Jezebel
by Adamantwrites
Summary: <html><head></head>Adam is seduced by a beautiful, mysterious woman who can bring him only trouble. Adult language and non-graphic sexual scenes. Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plots are the property of the author.</html>
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I would sit in the back of the church and wonder what it would be like to fuck Jezebel Noble. Yes, I know that I was calling down the wrath of God upon my head but believe me, it was far more pleasant to imagine a naked Jezebel moving and moaning underneath me than to listen to the minister preach about the importance of forgiving those who had wronged us.

And what an unfortunate name she had—Jezebel, synonymous with whore as far as most people were concerned. I often wondered what parent would saddle their undeniably beautiful child with a name like that. And Jezebel was beautiful, there was no doubting that, but so pale and quiet that she made me wonder about her. She walked silently beside her husband, Mason Noble, attending church and other social events on his arm but she was never really present; her dark eyes had a far-away gaze as though she was seeing the invisible. Beautiful Jezebel seemed a sleepwalker, so removed from everything and everyone.

In the back pew where I always chose to sit, I would gaze at her still profile one row down and to my left, and consider if she ever cried out in pleasure as she lay underneath Mason Noble. I doubted it, not so much doubting that Mrs. Noble had a sensual side or that she wouldn't enjoy being plowed by a man who pleased her but that Mason Noble would bother to see to it; he was the type to only be interested in his needs alone. He wasn't an unkind man that I could see and I always judged him a bit of a coward so I don't think he was capable of outright cruelty. I never heard how he, a wealthy but rather unattractive, stodgy man, won such a beauty as Jezebel who was so much younger than he.

Jezebel must have been in her late twenties and Mason, in his fifties. He owned a neighboring ranch named The Noble Pine and had a medium-sized herd but no mining or timber interests other than a partnership with Hoss and me in a small copper mine on the corner of our mutual property. We had hit a vein of turquoise that at the moment, was bringing in more money than the copper. Mason was honest and fair in his dealings with us but he had been a lonely bachelor, once bemoaning the fact of his loneliness to me hoping, I suspected, that I would point him toward an eligible woman who desperately wanted a husband. Every so often, one of us, Hoss, Joe or me, would see him head toward Broadbent Street, the street lined with whore houses and gambling parlors in Virginia City. One night as Hoss and I were playing poker in the gambling parlor of Miss Ora's Place, Mason Noble came stealing in, spoke quietly to Miss Ora who was making sure that none of her patrons received anything but the best watered-down whiskey money could buy, handed her some folded bills and then went upstairs. He was back down and out the door in less than fifteen minutes.

"Must've been ripe and ready to burst," Hoss said about Mason's short visit. I laughed at than one. The whore sitting next to me at the table, one of her naked, plump legs thrown over one of my thighs, remarked that Mason had odd tastes. She said that once she serviced him and he wanted to be called a naughty boy and smacked on his bottom and then he came in a lace handkerchief she gave him.

"Remind me not to buy you for a night," I said to her. "Seems you can't keep your mouth shut." She flushed—Barb was her name—and swore she never did talk about her patrons except that one time and that was just to me and Hoss. But I remembered that piece of information later when Mason came back from a trip to St. Louis with a young and beautiful but silent wife. Maybe the fact that she rarely spoke was the pull; he needed a wife who wouldn't talk about their private life together.

I also wondered, as I watched the mute Jezebel, if perhaps Jezebel was a screamer when thrilled—if she ever had been thrilled. I didn't think so though. But then she was so quiet, so emotionless and bloodless in public that maybe in private she would release all her pent-up passions and become an abandoned wanton, a lustful wench who would energetically ride the man who pleased her. And I always wondered if I could be that man. But then, as I said, Mrs. Jezebel Noble rarely spoke. The only things she had, up to that time, ever said to me to my memory were my name in acknowledgement of my presence at some gathering and "No, but thank you for the kindness," when she would decline my request for the honor of a dance. So to say she fascinated me is an understatement.

It was about a month before Jezebel Noble disappeared—yes, she disappeared—that I saw her at the lake. It was a hot day; Hoss had said that it felt like the inside of Hop Sing's new oven and he and I were riding to meet up with Pa and Joe in town to all have dinner at the Imperial House when I noticed a cabriolet with red wheels under a group of trees. The small sorrel was hitched and cropping grass. We were still on the Ponderosa and so was the intruder so I pulled up my horse.

"Why're you stoppin'?" Hoss asked. "It's just a two-wheeled buggy. Probably some stranger stopped to look at the lake, maybe to cool off. Iffen we weren't so late, I wouldn't mind takin' a dip myself."

My suspicions were aroused anyway. "Your stomach'll wait," I said, dismounting. "You won't starve." I dropped my horse's reins and he dipped his head to the grass. So while Hoss waited and grumbled, I carefully walked through the brush and trees down to the lake and was about fifteen yards from the shore when I saw her.

It would have been more ironic if her name had been Bathsheba instead of Jezebel because just as King David had to possess Bathsheba after he saw her at her bath, I felt I needed to possess Jezebel after I saw her standing up to her hips in the cool, blue water, her wet, dark hair falling almost to her waist as she raised her face to the sky, her firm breasts proudly exposed to the wilderness and her ivory skin glistening in the sunlight.

I was entranced—fully and completely and it was only when I heard the horses nicker to each other that I came back to myself and the fact that I was watching Jezebel without her knowledge. And what did that make me? Other than hard, a bit ashamed of myself and yet…I couldn't look away.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

It was hearing Hoss breaking through the brush—he never was one for subtlety—that finally forced me to break off my attention and retreat; Jezebel still hadn't seen me and I wanted to make sure she didn't. After all, she rarely spoke to me as it was and seldom joined in a social occasion so if she knew that I had seen her naked, well, she'd never appear anywhere again and I didn't think I could bear her continual absence for some odd reason. I can usually understand why I feel the way I do about people or incidents—a previous event, memories or something else colors my perspective but when it came to Jezebel Noble, I could discover no reason for my feelings about her, why she intrigued me so. I just knew that seeing her calm, lovely face at Sunday services was the only draw for me and the occasional times she spoke to me, well, I was just a goddamn fool over her. What else can I say?

Anyway, I managed to break off my gaze and headed back meeting Hoss before he came close enough to see her.

"Who is it?" Hoss asked. I suppose I looked a little odd, pale, as I imagine the blood had left my head—and all my other extremities, I'm sure, to go to my raging erection.

I grabbed his arm, turned him and shoved him forward back to the road. He looked at me oddly. "It's just Mrs. Noble—she's wading and I don't think we should disturb her. You know how private she is. C'mon."

Hoss looked behind him, reluctant to leave, as we started back up the incline and smiled slyly. "Did you see her ankles—maybe part of her leg?"

"No," I said, working my way back up to the road, "I didn't. Her legs were underwater." It was the truth.

We mounted our horses and headed toward Virginia City. "Dang," Hoss said as we rode, "I sure would've liked to've seen her legs—can you imagine how she'd look naked? Ever time I see her I can't help but imagine her without her clothes—naked as a jaybird. But that Mason bein' the man who crawls on top of her, what a lucky son-of-a-bitch he is. I'd sure like to poke her myself. She's a strange one but she sure is a beauty. You ever think about what it'd be like to fuck her?"

"No," I lied.

I knew Hoss was looking at me—and grinning. "Adam, you're one fuckin' liar. I bet even Pa thinks 'bout what it'd be like to poke her between her legs." And then Hoss laughed.

"What's so funny?'

"I was just thinkin'. You know how quiet that Mrs. Noble is? I was wonderin' if she ever said anything to Mason while he's workin' over her."

"Why's that funny?"

" 'Cause the only thing she probably says is for him to hurry up and get it over with."

I had to grin but said nothing else and finally Hoss changed the subject but I really don't remember what he talked about the rest of the ride. Jezebel was foremost in my mind and my thoughts kept churning—as well as my blood—thinking about her and how much I wanted her and would never have her. It raised such a painful ache in my soul that I wanted to howl. But then, as Pa always said to us as we were growing, "There are many things you can have in this world but there are many things you can't. Don't focus on those things that will never be yours and make the best of those that are yours because you boys have more than most."

And so I would try not to think of Jezebel Noble, but think about the other available women—focus on them. Granted there weren't that many available women, but the irony of Mason Noble having a beautiful, delectable wife while Nevada—actually the whole southwest—was teeming with unmarried miners and rail workers and ranch hands who lacked a wife, beautiful or not, well, it seemed the grandest joke. Oh, there were widows with children aplenty who longed for a husband for support and companionship and they would gladly marry any man who asked them. And there were whores of varying levels and skills—some who would raise their skirts for only two bits. Some men married them. And then there were those whores who would perform any service on clean sheets while wearing silks and satins—but they didn't appeal to me as a wife. Besides, the idea of bringing home any woman of that ilk to a house with four other men if you include Hop Sing, well, it wouldn't be prudent, to say the least.

But despite my Pa's guiding paternal advice, I couldn't stop thinking about Jezebel even though I'm sure she fell into the "things I can't have" category. But that didn't alter the fact that I wanted her, yearned for her and that when I was alone at night, Jezebel was with me in my mind, her lips wet and moist and open as well as the place between her legs—that was also open and dewy and waiting for me. How much I wanted the flesh and blood woman, to hear her voice and lose myself in the curls of her dark hair and the depth of her eyes. And I would end up groaning with my unfulfilled longing for her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

The next Sunday morning, Mason Noble entered church alone and took his usual seat; I had already taken mine, awaiting the entrance of Jezebel. I had anticipated the slight swing of her hips as she walked—and now that I had seen her in the all and all, well, her progress down the aisle was so much more delicious and I hardened visualizing her proud breasts and the tight little buds of her erect nipples and the soft curve of her belly. Usually, as she would file past me on her way out of church, she would glance my way and I would nod slightly. But that Sunday she wasn't there. So after the service as Mason exited his pew, I stepped out behind him.

"Mason, is Mrs. Noble well?"

He turned, surprised, and once we stepped out into the sunlight, I could see he looked older and more haggard than I remembered.

"She…she had a…bad stomach earlier this week. Fortunately, it wasn't the influenza but…I really don't know much about those things. I'm just going by what Dr. Martin said. I'll tell Mrs. Noble you asked about her." Mason then put on his hat and went to his small buggy, almost scampering like some vermin that was at home in the dark and ran from the light. He wanted to be gone.

As I waited outside for the rest of my family as they always sat close to the front, I saw Paul Martin exit and start the short walk to his home which also housed his surgery. I hurried to catch up with him.

"Paul," I called out and he stopped, his affable face breaking into a welcoming smile.

"Good, morning, Adam. Gorgeous day, isn't it." He looked up at the blue sky with a few clouds scudding across its breadth. "I think the weather may finally be turning." Paul was such a genial man whose compassion was legion. He treated the poor and the wealthy, the only difference being that he charged the wealthy.

"Yes, it does seem that this morning was a bit cooler. Paul…Mason Noble told me is wife had a stomach issue—so serious that she couldn't attend church and you know she's…devout; here every week. He says that it wasn't influenza."

"Yes, it wasn't. No fever or such so I'm guessing it was something else—something she consumed." Paul had ethics which was a shame because I knew I wouldn't get much from him about Jezebel.

"Guessing?'

"Well, that's what we doctors do—we actually just guess and hope for the best. That's all a diagnosis is."

"So you're saying that she just had…dyspepsia?" Paul knew I was skeptical, that I sensed Jezebel's "illness" was more serious than mere indigestion.

"Now, Adam, I made no specific diagnosis, just ruled out influenza. She'll be fine and that's all I'll say about her. If it were influenza, I'd quarantine their place. Mason Noble didn't carry a plague into the church. Don't worry about it."

"That's not what I'm worried about," I said, about to ask another question when my family walked up and Pa and Paul shook hands while Joe surveyed the churchyard for any pretty girls who were available. Hoss stood idly by with his hands in his pockets. I just wanted to get home. So after some conversation with Paul and with a few others, we finally headed back to the Ponderosa and I couldn't help but glance to my right as we passed the spot where I had earlier seen Jezebel bathing in the lake.

"Where're you goin'?" Hoss asked as I carried the food basket out of the kitchen. "You takin' someone on a picnic?"

"Dinner's in an hour," my father said. "When did this picnic come up and who is the lucky woman?"

"Yeah," Joe said grinning as he sat opposite Hoss at the round table, a checkerboard and pieces between them. "Who have you finally decided to court? Who's the 'unlucky woman'?"

"Maybe it's that new schoolmarm, you know, Joe, the one without a chin." Hoss chuckled. My brothers— and myself, I must admit-had eagerly anticipated the hiring of a new young and single school teacher, that is until we saw her. Hoss had said that our milk cow, Maybelle, had a prettier face and Joe replied that it explained why he'd seen Hoss smooching up the bovine the other day.

"Maybe it's Bolton's daughter," Joe offered, "she's got three chins! She's always smiling and fluttering her eyes," Joe said doing a burlesque imitation of Jane Bolton, "whenever she waits on Adam in her pa's store. She's been sweet on Adam for a long time now. Looks like she's finally won his heart. Hope there's enough food for the two of you—hell, she'll probably eat the basket as well if any food spills on it." Hoss roared at that.

"It's none of your goddamn business," I said as I placed the basket down to belt on my gun. "But just to keep you two from speculating, Mrs. Noble has been ill—a stomach malady—so I asked Hop Sing to make a light soup. He did and I'm also taking some of his almond wafers and a loaf of fresh bread. It's the least we can do as neighbors."

"Was she in church today?" my father asked.

"No," I said and picking up the basket, I left. I found I was excited at the prospect of seeing her, at seeing Jezebel in her home and to watch how she interacted with Mason. Would they hold hands and gaze lovingly at one another? I doubted it but I had to know for curiosity's sake. I also hoped Jezebel would receive me and that Mason wouldn't merely accept the basket on her behalf. Of course, manners would require that I be asked to sit for a while and be offered something to eat or drink but if Jezebel Noble was as ill as not to be able to come downstairs, well, I'd deal with it. But at least I would be within feet of her, near her. And so, with the basket tied onto my saddle, the soup secured in a lidded jar, and a small book of poetry I had tucked in as well, I took off for The Noble Pine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

"My family thought that it would be neighborly to bring some soup and a few sweets to your wife since she's been ill." I felt out of place after Mason had invited me inside, realizing that I had probably made a mistake, but then it wouldn't be the first time.

When I had arrived, I stood on the porch considering just turning around and heading back home. Then I cursed myself as a coward with no cojones and knocked, Mason himself opened the door and appeared not sure what to do; he left me standing on the porch, staring as if he couldn't believe his eyes. I felt as awkward and stupid as I had the first time I had ever met a young girl's father when I went to pick her up for a dance. It was Viola Tanner's father and he intimidated me just by glaring at me while he smoked his pipe and looked me over. Finally Mason invited me in and I realized that I had never before been inside his home—Jezebel's home.

It was a simple place—the parlor having a grouping of a settee and two comfortable chairs around the hearth. A braided rug was on the wooden flooring and natural light flooded the room. But it was late and so lamps had already been lit to fend away the coming darkness of night. There were a few pictures on the walls—landscapes—and a low oak table before the fireplace. An empty vase stood on the table and a worn Bible was placed on one corner. I imagined that Mason saw in the chair closest to it and read it. I had read the Bible as well, many times-looking for a loophole I had told Hoss when he asked about it. But the main reason I had studied the Book was to have ammunition from any Bible-beater who pronounced those of us who drank and whored some ammunition for a retort should they personally damn me or any of my family. Pa told me that I was reading for the wrong reason, that the Bible was a guide on how to live. I just smiled and said that I knew that-and that's why I prayed for God to smite my enemies the way those in the Old Testament did.

Finally Mason came back to being the gracious host. "Sit, Adam. I'll let Mrs. Noble know we have a visitor."

Mason took to the stairs. I wondered if he referred to Jezebel as "Mrs. Noble" when they were alone, if he cried out, "Oh, Mrs. Noble!" in the midst of passion as he spent into her, but then I couldn't imagine Mason Noble feeling any passion at all. And I certainly couldn't picture them coupling, Jezebel's legs spread wide to welcome him.

I waited alone downstairs and placed the basket on the table and pulled off my hat. In less than a minute, Mason came back down—alone.

"Mrs. Noble will be down shortly. Coffee, Adam?"

I really didn't want any but it would give me an excuse to stay longer and something to do with my hands other than clasping my hat and nervously turning it around by it's brim. "Thank you. That would be nice."

"I'll go make some. Our cook has half Saturdays and Sundays off but I'm not a bad cook. I've been scrambling eggs for myself the past two days." He grinned and I nodded and he left for the kitchen. Then Jezebel came down the stairs and I felt stunned by the vision; she seemed so out of place in that house.

I stood and nodded slightly to acknowledge her and she gave me what for Jezebel, passed as a smile. She was even paler than usual, dark circles under her eyes and the wrap she wore clung to her legs as she walked and slipped over her rounded hips, her firm breasts outlined by the fabric, the V of the neck emphasizing her white throat with its delicate hollow. I wanted her so much that my balls ached and twitched and I hoped she wouldn't notice my arousal.

"You must excuse my appearance," she said as she pushed her hair off her face. She had tied it back with a ribbon but a few stray curls had already escaped their confinement. "I've been indisposed of lt. It was kind of your family to consider me. Please sit."

I sat back down feeling like a mute idiot. I'm sure I stammered like a green kid but managed to say that we hoped she would soon be well and able to attend church again. I motioned to the basket and said that Hop Sing had sent soup and some sweets—almond wafers-and a loaf of sour dough. She opened her mouth to say something but then her face changed to one of desperation as she leaned toward me.

"Mr. Cartwright, I was wondering…" and then Mason walked back in carrying a small pitcher of cream and a sugar bowl. Jezebel sat back stiffly and adjusted her wrap, holding the neckline closed higher with one hand.

"Mrs. Noble," Mason said, looking to his wife, "would you like some coffee, dear? You haven't eaten much the last two days."

"Thank you but I'll get it." She rose and Mason went to her, fussing, telling her to sit down and he would serve it. I waited, having stood when she did as he tried to convince her to sit; she needed to rest, he said and then he glanced at me.

"I should go," I said. "I didn't mean to intrude or tire you, Mrs. Noble. I've been inconsiderate. Please forgive me my bad manners."

"No, no," she said. "Please, Mr. Cartwright, stay a bit. Please—stay and have a few of the cookies with us along with the coffee. This house has been so quiet lately that I've felt I'm the only human in the world." She sat back down and I did as well, placing my hat which I had been holding, on the arm of the chair.

"Thank you." I said. "I'll have cup of coffee and then you must excuse me—I can see how tired you seem." I couldn't take my eyes from her.

She smiled wanly and Mason left for the kitchen. I waited for her to finish what she had started to say earlier but she said nothing more. In the awkward silence, I glanced at her and she was looking at her folded hands.

"I also brought a book of poetry," I said. "It's in the basket." I motioned to it and then rose and folding back the towel that covered the foodstuffs, I pulled out a slender volume and handed it to her. She took it from me and looked at the cover, running one hand over the embossed flowers. "It's Italian poetry," I added, "Petrarch, but a very good translation."

Jezebel rewarded me with a smile and I felt that the smile alone made the trip worth it. Mason came back in and served the coffee and Jezebel clasped the book against her bosom as if it would save her life. But she never said anything else, never finished what she had started to say to me when we were alone and after some small talk, basically Mason and I discussing the mine, Jezebel sipped the coffee and nibbled on one almond wafer. She then excused herself, thanking me for the food and the visit and for my "kindness." She seemed a little uneasy on her feet and had she been mine, I would have carried her up the stairs and tucked her gently in bed kissing her pure forehead and then where the side of her neck curved into her shoulder, pushing the silky wrap down. But Jezebel wasn't mine-she was Mason's, the lucky son-of-a-bitch. By then it was dark and since Jezebel was leaving us, I left, wondering if Mason realized how fortunate he was to be around such beauty every day, to see Jezebel every day. How could he live so formally? The least he could drop is drop to his knees in front of her every morning and thank her for gracing his life with her presence. But then we never really know what's going on in other people's homes or their lives.

There was something off in the Noble home as I told my father later that evening. He had been sitting and reading when I arrived home-waiing for me although had I accused him of it, he would have denied it. He still worried about me.

"Adam, you should mind your own business. You're old enough to know that. Mason Noble and his wife have their own problems, I'm sure—just as any married couple does. Just be glad that she didn't drag you in to some marital issue."

"I know, Pa, but she looked so….sad-no, forlorn." My father had just sighed and shook his head.

"She's been ill, correct?" he asked me as I gazed into the fireplace. I nodded. "Maybe that's it. What you took for sadness was just her not feeling well."

"That could be it, I suppose. But, she…"

"Adam. She's a beautiful woman but you have to admit she's a strange one and so is Mason; he's an odd, little man. Why she married him, well, your guess is as good as mine but I think we should just leave them alone. Neither of them has ever sought a friendship with us or anyone else to my knowledge; they must prefer to be left alone."

"Pa, you don't know that and neither do I. I still say there's something wrong—but you're right—I shouldn't get involved." Famous last words, right? So with that I trudged up the stairs but I couldn't shake the feeling that Jezebel needed me and when I closed my eyes, I saw her large eyes pleading with me. And I had trouble sleeping.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

It was a few days later that Jezebel Noble rode up to the Ponderosa. Pa answered the door and welcomed her and I rose from my chair when she walked in holding our basket; she was obviously returning it but it was an odd time to be doing so this time of day. It was after dinner, late by most people's standards and becoming dark but she behaved as if there was nothing unusual in arriving at our home, someplace she had never been even though the distance between our property and The Noble Pine was only a half hour ride as the crow flies. And Jezebel looked radiant. She put me in mind of the look of a woman who's sated after a bout of rousing sex—her lips slightly parted, her eyes feverish. I feared she might still be ill but she quickly quelled that worry.

Her cheeks were flushed by the cool evening air although I wanted to think it was at the prospect of seeing me again that made the blood rise in her cheeks and I wondered if she was sexually excited, aroused. She wore a dark green suit and a green slouch hat with an orange plume, the hat's ties curving around her cheeks. She looked gloriously beautiful.

"How lovely to see you," my father said as he ushered Jezebel into the room. "Adam, look who's here."

I knew that my father had been thrown by Mrs. Noble's unexpected arrival; he didn't know what to say to her and stammered through his frozen smile but his eyes took on that look of appreciation as when he's seen a well-conformed horse. Don't get me wrong—I'm not comparing Jezebel to a mare but a good piece of flesh is a good piece of flesh and my old man has settled between quite a few rounded, lush thighs in his day. He knows the value of a beautiful woman and the pleasure just her presence can bring; Jezebel made us feel alive.

"Mrs. Noble," I said going to her and taking her gloved hand. I also took the basket and placed it on the table. "Please, sit and stay a while. I'm glad to see that you're so much better. Please, won't you sit?" I gestured toward the settee and I sat on the table facing her. She was so beautiful—more beautiful than I had ever seen her. And she looked at me as if she wanted nothing more than to be fucked—I swear it. I felt my blood heat up and that hunger for her rise again—both figuratively and literally.

I know what you're thinking, that it was just my male vanity that made me think that the flush along her cheek and the brightness in her eyes, the softness of her mouth with its luscious lips was for me but I've lived long enough to know when a women is sexually aroused—and she was. Even her breathing was off-too shallow and rapid. My father knew it too and that was part of the reason that he felt so awkward. I swear though, Jezebel even gave off a scent because Hoss came down from upstairs and Joe came in from the barn and Hop Sing came from the kitchen, all in awe of her presence in the great room, all remarking how nice it was to see her. And being men, I'm sure they were all of the same thought as me—how they'd like to push up her skirts to see her white, rounded thighs and slip a hand between her legs to feel her wetness before tipping her over on her back. We're men and that's just the way our minds work—and, unfortunately, our cocks-when we see a sumptuous woman like Jezebel Noble. Oh, God, she was like an overripe fruit with the honeyed juices just waiting to flow. I wanted to taste her.

Jezebel politely sat but refused coffee or tea, much to Hop Sing's chagrin; he seemed to be pawing the ground, just waiting to cater to her needs. Reluctantly he left to go back to cleaning the kitchen and preparing things for breakfast in the morning after being assured that there was nothing she required.

Jezebel said that she wanted to thank us for our thoughtfulness when she had taken ill. "It was more than kind to send the soup. Oh," she said turning toward the kitchen, "I meant to compliment your cook; the broth was delicious-just savory enough and was soothing." She turned back to us. "You will inform him of it, won't you?"

"Of course, I will," my father said. "Sending food to an indisposed neighbor is just common manners and we deserve no credit for that. I am most pleased that you're well enough to ride over her to pay us a visit but thanks aren't really necessary-neighbors help others out here and it was "our" pleasure. It is also our immense pleasure to enjoy your company."

Hoss who was leaning against the fireplace, and I looked at each other in amusement over our charming father. "He could charm an angel from the sky," Hoss once said and Joe had added, "and then seduce her. Boy," Joe added, "I bet her feathered wings would be fluttering a thousand miles a minute as Pa gave it to her." We had laughed but our old man, the ladies loved him. He made the women quiver every time he stopped and took off his hat to ask after them. Pa is something else. But we were all enjoying Jezebel Noble; Joe sat on the edge of a chair, his hands clasped in front of him as he leaned over, absorbing her presence.

And then Jezebel turned her eyes on me. "Mrs. Grace, our cook, baked an apple pie and I'm hoping it will be just a small way to thank you-all of you," she added looking to them. "I also enclosed two doilies I've crocheted." She looked at my father. "I hope they're not too…dainty. I've never seen your home before—it is grand and I feel that a small lace piece will be out of place."

"Nonsense," my father said. "We need something like that, a small woman's touch around here. When Marie, my late wife—Joe's mother—was alive, she was always putting little womanly touches on things, something which we've allowed to lapse. Thank you."

"You're kind to say such nice things," Jezebel said and then she looked at me again. "I haven't finished the poems yet. I hope you don't mind my keeping your book a bit longer."

"Poems?" Joe asked. He looked as if he had caught me with my cock in my hand. "What book of poems, older brother?" He was smiling.

"Just some translations from the Italian."

"Oh, love poems?" Hoss was grinning now as well and he and Joe were exchanging knowing glances.

I wanted to tell them to fuck themselves-or their horses-but a lady was present. "I suppose some of them were. But then, you're familiar with Petrarch, aren't you, Hoss?" I waited a moment and he snorted.

"Well, I ain't gotten to him yet—it is a him, ain't it?" Hoss furrowed his brows.

"Yes," I said, "a him." I turned my attention back to Jezebel who seemed amused at our fraternal one-upmanship. I had never seen Jezebel that way before, so relaxed and yet there was an edge. I noticed her stepped-up pulse in her throat. I wanted to press my lips against the throbbing vein that ran under her pale skin and to kiss her until she moaned with desire. But instead, I asked her if she was certain she didn't care for coffee.

"Thank you, but no. Actually," she said standing which caused us to stand in response, "I need to leave. It will soon be dark and since I took the short way, well, I'll have to take the road home and I worry about losing my way."

My father started to speak but I interrupted. "Give me a few minutes to saddle up and I'll escort you back to The Noble Pine." She protested that she couldn't ask me for such a thing, that it would be putting me out but I assured her that it wouldn't and reminded her that she hadn't asked me to accompany her—I had willingly volunteered, so picking up my hat, gun belt and jacket, I left for the barn.

I was saddling up my horse when my father came in, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"You left Mrs. Noble with Hoss and Joe? Taking a chance, aren't you?" I grinned while I lifted one of my horse's legs and pulled slightly to straighten out any skin that might be caught under the cinch.

"Adam," my father placed one hand on my horse's saddle, leaning slightly, "let Hoss or Joe show her the way home."

I stood up and looked at him. "Why?"

"I just…I think it would be best."

"Out with it, Pa."

"Adam, you seem…she came just to see you. I know it, you know it and she does as well. I think you're playing with fire."

"Pa, I think I can take care of myself. When you were my age, you'd been married three times and I believe that you had been 'singed' quite a few times before and since." I went back to saddling.

"I don't want that for you, Adam. Learn from me—a married woman is trouble—nothing but trouble."

I was going to make a snide comment about Joyce Edwards but refrained. I knew that my father wanted what he felt was best for me, that he worried about me, actually about all three of us, but I didn't need his guidance.

"Pa, I'm just showing Mrs. Noble the road home—that's all." I stood up, holding my horse's reins, ready to lead him to the waiting buggy. "And don't be shocked but I know my way around women and I've lost my virtue-quite a while ago." I winked at him and grinning, led my horse out of the barn.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

In different circumstances, it would have been a romantic drive in the moonlight but Jezebel Noble sat silently beside me as I drove her buggy, my horse tied behind. I kept glancing at her elegant profile as she looked straight ahead. She wanted something, I felt. Finally I decided to break the silence.

"Where is Mason this evening? It would have been nice to see him as well," I lied. I was happy that Jezebel had come alone and Mason was the last person I wanted to see. Since he wasn't much of a conversationalist, the onus always fell on me to keep things moving. I often wondered if he and Jezebel spoke at all.

Jezebel sat up straighter. "He went into Virginia City."

"Oh, well…" I found I had no response and we rode in silence for the rest of the way.

I lifted Jezebel down once we arrived at her house. Her hands on my arms seemed to linger a bit longer than necessary and I was reluctant to take my hands from her small waist-but I did and volunteered to unhitch her buggy before I left. She turned to me, her face eager and she looked so beautiful, so desirable.

"Why thank you, Mr. Cartwright. That will give me time to put on the coffee." I imagine that I stood like some gaping fool because she added, "You will come in, won't you? Serving you coffee and a slice of applesauce cake is the least I can do to thank you. Just come in when you're finished."

I admit I was confused. I had always considered myself adept at reading others, at knowing which woman was accessible and which woman wanted only flattery and the thrill of a compliment with nothing further but Jezebel was a conundrum. I could feel the old urgency rise again. Were I alone in my room, unable to sleep because the image of Jezebel with her legs spread was too much to bear, I would have taken myself in hand and solved my problem myself, but here, well, all I could do was ache and lust. I hoped that the physical work of unhitching the horse and putting it away would take care of the hunger I felt. It didn't though.

I hesitated at her front door but convinced myself that it would be rude not to go in. Of course, I knew I was bullshitting myself but then, what the hell. I walked in, pulling off my hat and Jezebel was setting out a tray with the coffee pot, cups and such on the low table. She smiled at me and asked me to sit so I did. She had taken off her jacket and her hat and her hair caught the firelight, auburn strands glistening.

"I would like to say that I made the cake—it's Mason's favorite—but Mrs. Grace made it. I haven't yet tried my hand at cooking or baking. I hope you like it. Coffee?" she asked but was already pouring me a cup.

"Thank you." I took the cup and saucer from her and in the lamplight, she seemed more exotic, more sensuous and I could see that she wore no chemise under her blouse—her nipples were darker and showed slightly through her fitted white blouse. I sipped my coffee, declining cream and sugar, trying to avoid staring at her.

"Oh, I wanted to ask you about a poem—well, actually, I was hoping to discuss Petrarch's sonnets." She stood and fetched the book which was on the mantle. "I found this one particularly interesting." She opened the book, having placed the ribbon to mark the page and in her lovely voice that I heard too rarely, she began to read:

"_It was the day the sun's ray had turned pale_  
><em>with pity for the suffering of his Maker<em>  
><em>when I was caught, and I put up no fight,<em>  
><em>my lady, for your lovely eyes had bound me. <em>

_It seemed no time to be on guard against_  
><em>Love's blows; therefore, I went my way<em>  
><em>secure and fearless-so, all my misfortunes<em>  
><em>began in midst of universal woe.<em>

_Love found me all disarmed and found the way_  
><em>was clear to reach my heart down through the eyes<em>  
><em>which have become the halls and doors of tears.<em>

_It seems to me it did him little honor_  
><em>to wound me with his arrow in my state<em>  
><em>and to you, armed, not show his bow at all.<em>

So sad, don't you think, to be the victim of unrequited love, to have Cupid's arrow wound you and not the object of your love? It…it is truly suffering, don't you think"

"Yes, well," I stammered like some schoolboy with his first crush, heating up like some bull ready to mount a fresh heifer and then I knew that I had to leave; Jezebel was too much for me and all my desire for her came back full force. I put down my cup and saucer and stood, ignoring the ache in my balls.

"I really should go," I said picking up my hat.

"Please," she said, rising and placing a hand on my arm; the spot seemed to burn. All my attention was focused on the pressure of her small hand and the intense look in her eyes. "Mason won't be home for hours—I'm sure he goes to see a woman in town—and I..I, oh, I've wanted to touch you for so long, wanted to kiss your mouth …" She reached up and ran two fingers over my lips. She said nothing else but looked at me with a mixture of desire and fear. She saw my hesitation. "I won't let Mason touch me and I, oh, I'm so lost," she said, her voice deep in her throat, deep with longing and need—or maybe I just imagined it _because that's what I was feeling._

I'm not making excuses for myself but I am only human, only flesh and blood and she was my weakness. I took Jezebel in my arms and kissed her—her mouth opening to mine, yielding to me the way I knew her body would, inviting me to take her and soon she was on her back on their sofa and I had pushed up her skirts while she draped one bare leg over my shoulder.

Jezebel wore nothing underneath and I saw what had been hidden by the water of the lake-her white rounded thighs that led to the dark patch between her legs, the mound of Venus. I kissed the soft flesh of her inner thighs and she made small sounds that indicated she enjoyed my attentions. Her breasts strained against the blouse as she arched her back as if reveling in the heat of my mouth on her skin. Then I slid my hand between her legs, feeling the moistness and heat that lay hidden and she gasped. A few seconds later, well, I was on her and in her and delighting in her flesh, kissing her white neck and her mouth and she held on to me with seeming desperation, crying out as I moved over her. And although I know our coupling didn't last that long—I grit my teeth and held back for what seemed like hours until her body let me know she had reached her delight. Then we lay in each other's arms, wrapped about one another, and I kissed her hair and her hands. I had to smile though at the urgency of our now-sated desire—mine especially as I had fucked her with my boots on.

As I was riding home, it occurred to me—I hadn't been thinking rationally or it would have come to me earlier—that Jezebel Noble set out to seduce me that night, had shunned undergarments so that I wouldn't have to fumble with undressing her. I chuckled at my stupidity; it had been a long time since I had been that naïve, since I had been the seduced instead of the seducer. But why had she chosen that night? After all that time that we were acquainted, why then?


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

The following Sunday I waited in the back of the church. Services were about to start when Hoss slipped into the pew beside me.

'What the hell are you doing sitting here?" I didn't want any company just in case Jezebel spoke to me or looked at me in a knowing way. Hoss was an observer; there wasn't much he missed which is why he made such a good tracker. He would notice a snapped twig that indicated someone had passed that way and he also noticed the nuances of expression on a person's face. So you can see why I didn't want him around.

"Just thought I'd keep you company back here. I always suspected that you sat back here and stuck your hands in your pockets to roll your balls."

I chuckled. "Oh, is that so? For your information, I actually pull out my cock and when Reverend Thomas starts talking about whores and fornication, I have a grand old time and come in my hat."

Hoss laughed and looked at me. He is an affable human being, a good-hearted man and were he not my brother, we'd be close friends. "That's one way to keep the brim stiff," he said. We laughed a little too loud at that and people close to us turned to look disapprovingly. Even Pa down in his front row turned and frowned at us.

And then Jezebel came in, escorted by Mason. She walked down the aisle and they took their regular place.

"Ain't she somethin', Adam?" I turned to Hoss and he was staring at the back of her head with a dreamy look in his eyes. "Life is funny. A pretty woman like her with that runty Mason. It's like buying a set of buggy horses only one's a stocky, rough-coated pony and one's a fine-boned, high-steppin', sleek mare."

I said nothing, glancing across at Jezebel and she turned around and looked at me. I nodded slightly and she barely smiled but it was enough—enough to satisfy me and enough to intrigue Hoss.

"Anythin' between you two, Adam? I mean more'n you takin' her soup and such. You givin' her somethin' else?"

I turned and looked at him suspiciously. "Pa send you to sit back here and ask me stupid fuckin' questions?"

"No, nothin' like that. I just thought you might like some company but since I asked, is there?"

"None of your goddamn business."

Hoss sighed and sat back in the pew, crossing his arms across his chest and stretching out his legs as far as they would go, hooking one foot across the other at the ankle. "Hope it's a good sermon 'cause I'd much rather be sleepin' right now."

"Knowing you, you'll be sleeping soon anyway." I relaxed too but kept my eyes on Jezebel but she never looked back at me again during services, but afterwards, she and Mason were standing in the churchyard, waiting for me.

Jezebel approached us. Hoss nodded to her and said hello to Mason who skulked behind her as if he was out of his element. Jezebel put out a hand to stay me. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear my pulse thrumming in my ears.

"Mr. Cartwright, I meant to return your book this morning but I forgot it. I don't want you to think that I'm one of those who keeps a book because they treasure it and hope the lender will forget the loan. I am becoming forgetful it seems as I wanted to share a volume of sonnets by Sidney—_Astrophil and Stella_."

"_Star Lover and Star_," I said. "At least that's the translation, I believe. Fortunately, I have the volume myself but haven't looked at it in years. Perhaps one day we can discuss the idea of the unattainable woman—Stella, in this case. It is often the subject of romantic poetry, isn't it?"

Jezebel smiled and Hoss stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. Mason stood silently behind her. And Jezebel rewarded me with her smile.

"Yes. It is romantic but how much more pleasurable to find requited love—that is the goal of reality. My favorite sonnet in the collection is sonnet 45. You must read it again and tell me what you think."

Mason stepped up and took Jezebel's arm. "We must go, Mrs. Noble. It's almost noon." She stepped back and then glanced at me. She was wearing a dark blue felted hat with feathers and a branch of small berries tucked between them. The feathers danced as she moved her head.

"Goodbye, Mr. Cartwright." She said the name once but smiled to both me and Hoss and then they left just as Pa and Joe came up.

"Well, Pa said, "seems like Mrs. Noble is opening up a bit—becoming more sociable."

I could feel Hoss looking at me. "Maybe we oughta invite them for dinner sometime," he suggested.

Joe snorted. "I don't want to break bread with Mason. He's so boring."

"Yeah," Hoss said "but that Mrs. Noble, she kinda makes up for that. Hell, all she'd have to do is sit there and breathe and it'd be enough to interest me."

I looked at my family. All three of them were watching Mason help Jezebel into their buggy. I just shook my head and walked to our buckboard, climbed up on the seat and waited. I went over our conversation again. Sonnet 45. I would have to read it. Jezebel pointed out that poem to me and I had to find out why.

Once home, I found my volume of 16th century poetry and checked the table of contents for Sidney's sonnets. I found the specific sonnet quickly and turned to the page, barely breathing.

_Stella oft sees the very face of woe _

_Painted in my beclouded stormy face: _

_But cannot skill to pity my disgrace, _

_Not though thereof the cause herself she know: _

_Yet hearing late a fable, which did show _

_Of lovers never known, a grievous case, _

_Pity thereof gat in her breast such place _

_That, from that sea deriv'd, tears' spring did flow. _

_Alas, if fancy drawn by imag'd things, _

_Though false, yet with free scope more grace doth breed _

_Than servant's wrack, where new doubts honour brings; _

_Then think, my dear, that you in me do read _

_Of lovers' ruin some sad tragedy: _

_I am not I, pity the tale of me._

I read it twice and yet…it was a poem about a man in love with Stella and she saw and recognized the pain he was in due to the unattainable lover. Stella hears a tale, a fable of two lovers and responds with tears so why is there no pity from her, no tears for the sadness of his story of unrequited passion? He begs her to read the lover's tragedy in him—to pity his sad tale as if it were of someone else, "the tale of me."

I closed the book and lay back on the bed. I decided that I was trying to read too much in the poem—trying to see a message where there was none. Of course it would be a woman's favorite poem being about romantic love, unrequited love where the man suffers for it and begs to be pitied and understood in his suffering with the consequence hopeful succor. I wanted too much. I was a fucking romantic who hoped for some cryptic message in a poem, hoped that Jezebel was speaking to me through a poem. If there was any message, I decided, she was telling me that there would be no more trysts, no more quick couplings on her sofa or anywhere else. I sat up and waited before getting up and going downstairs.

"You goddamn fool," I told myself. I shook my head and laughed. I tried to make something from nothing but it was still nothing. I was through with my ridiculous pining and moaning over her. Jezebel Noble be damned.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

It was the following Wednesday evening and Hoss, Joe and I were unsaddling our mounts in the yard when Sheriff Roy Coffee came by with his deputy Clem Foster and eight other men. Some were smaller ranchers we knew and a few were men who worked in town. All looked discomfited.

"What's going on?" I asked, stopping what I was doing.

Pa had come out to the yard when he heard the noise of all the horses. "Roy? Clem? You have a posse?"

"I do and I came by to get your boys," Roy said. "They know the area around her so well and Hoss is a good tracker; I'd like their help in finding Mrs. Noble."

"What?" Hoss asked. He was as surprised as I but I doubt his heart skipped a beat as mine had.

"What happened to Mrs. Noble," I asked, my voice almost deserting me as I stepped forward.

Roy and Clem looked at each other and then Roy said, "We don't know that anything has. It's just that when Mason came home about noon, she wasn't there."

"So?" Joe asked. "She wasn't home. Were weren't home either," Joes said grinning, "but you don't see Pa getting up a posse to find us." The men chuckled and it seemed that a few were as cynical as Joe; it hardly seemed an emergency to take out looking for her and I began to breathe a bit easier.

"Well, it became late and she still wasn't home. The housekeeper hasn't seen her all day either. Mason came into town looking for her, to see if she was shopping or such but no one in town has seen her. Mason's worried sick."

I exchanged looks with Pa. "Maybe she left him," I offered. "Did she pack a bag, take a horse or buggy? You don't send a posse to fetch back a runaway wife."

"Now, Adam, don't you think I asked that? Mason says no—no horse or buggy is missing and no clothes. Nothing's gone but her. Just disappeared apparently."

My mind was running in circles. Jezebel was gone—disappeared and there was a possibility she had been kidnapped, but it didn't sit right with me. "Were there any signs of….a struggle?"

Clem answered. "According to Mason and the housekeeper, no."

"Then you've been to the house?" I asked. "You've searched it."

"First place we went. The last time the housekeeper saw her was when she left for home last night and told Mrs. Noble goodnight. All this day, according to the housekeeper, Mrs. Noble has been gone and there are no indications as to where she went."

"Did Mason see his wife this morning?"

"Adam," Roy said, his annoyance obvious. Roy was a good sheriff, an intelligent, crafty man and a good friend but I did often question his detecting skills. "Why don't you just let me ask the questions? Mason said he thought his wife was still sleeping when he went down to breakfast and left for his office at the mine without waking her. So no, he didn't see her. Now, can I count on you three? Or do you have any more questions, Adam?"

"No more at the moment," I said, bristling slightly. Roy could often be as snide and sarcastic as I. So I went back to saddling up instead of unsaddling and my horse registered his unhappiness by stomping and huffing and swinging his head. "I know, boy," I said to him. "I was looking forward to resting my bones as well. I'll give you two scoops of oats tonight to make up for this."

Pa also joined the posse and Hop Sing came out complaining because dinner was ready and there would be no one to eat.

"All food not good if have to wait. Eat now, then go." He was fuming.

"Mrs. Noble has disappeared," Pa told him as Joe led a saddled Buck out of the barn.

"Pretty lady here other night? That lady? She disappear?"

"Yes," Pa said, "so we're going to help look for her. Just hold dinner for us, would you, Hop Sing? We'll be home once darkness falls."

Hop Sing went back to the kitchen; he wasn't happy but he stopped complaining.

Hoss, Clem, Hannity Fraser from town and I rode over to The Noble Pine. Hoss had suggested we go back to the house and take it from there. Clem agreed so we did. I found myself scanning the area for Jezebel as we rode. I knocked on the door, Clem behind me. Hoss and Hannity remained mounted and waiting. After a half minute, no one had answered the door so I pushed the handle and the door swung open. We walked in and Mason was sitting in the falling darkness. He looked up at us.

"Why are you here? Have you found her? She's dead, isn't she?"

"What makes you think she's dead?" Clem said.

"Well, you're here without her. Besides, she's been gone for God knows how long. She has to be dead"

I saw Clem look curiously at Mason. "Let's just operate on the idea that Mrs. Noble's just lost somewhere in all this countryside, was heading somewhere and lost her way. People come up lost in this area all the time since one part of the countryside looks pretty much like another."

"But I told the sheriff," Mason said, standing up. "The buggies are both here and all the horses are accounted for. She would have had to take out on foot."

"Maybe she did. Mason, did you two have an argument? Did you disagree over anything?" Mason shook his head, no.

"Mason," I said, "what was the last thing Mrs. Noble said to you?"

"She said….goodnight. That was it. She had been sitting down here reading a book of poetry while I read the Bible and she stood up and said goodnight. That was it."

I stepped out to the porch to speak to Hannity and Hoss. In a low voice, I said, "You two go look around the yard and the barn. Check under the hay and the pig pen and anywhere else that someone might hide a body. And see if there are any bones in the sty. You and I know a few pigs can devour a body in a day or two but some bones are left behind." I hated to think of Jezebel's body being disposed that way and doubted we would find anything if he had. Mason was dull and boring but not stupid; he would dumped her body in the pig sty a few days ago and then waited until her corpse had been eaten before reporting her missing but not enough time had passed.

"You think Mason killed his wife?" Hannity asked, his eyes shifting to the house and back.

"No—not really, but someone else might have and just buried the body right under our noses. And see if there's an empty stall where a horse may have been. I have a feeling Mason may not be forthcoming." The two nodded and turned their horses to the back of the house where the stable was. I went in and turned my attention back to Clem and Mason.

"Mason," Clem said with as much delicacy as he could muster, "do you have a picture of your wife, one that we can show around, maybe, if we need to, use on some missing posters to send to nearby sheriffs and marshals?"

"I have this." Mason walked over to a low-lying table against a far wall and brought back a small, simply framed daguerreotype of the two of them, Jezebel looking woebegone and Mason looking dour. He stood behind her while she sat in a chair with a woebegone expression. "It's a photograph from our wedding day. It's the only one I have of her."

"Thank you," Clem said as he took it. I put out my hand and Clem handed it to me and I stared at it. Jezebel sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes large and dark. It had been her wedding day yet there was no hint of a smile about her mouth. The Clem put out his hand and I gave it back. He tucked the small frame into his vest's inner pocket. "I'll see you get it back."

Mason had begun to weep, covering his face with his hands. "I don't know where she could have gone. My poor wife! My poor wife!" Then he looked up at Clem. "Maybe the Indians took her?"

Clem looked at me. The Paiutes had recently been annoying some of the homesteaders, stealing chickens and cows and a few horses when they could. A boy had been taken a few weeks ago but was found wandering in a field a day later, hungry and sunburned but otherwise unhurt. I considered that Jezebel might have been picked up by some brave and slung over his horse until he could couple with her and claim her as his but it seemed improbable that Mrs. Noble would be taken so easily. Besides, any Paiute would have also taken the stock, all the stock since there had been no men, just one woman at the ranch. It didn't seem likely to me so when Clem asked my opinion, I told him exactly what I thought.

Then Mason started to talk crazy. "You took her," Mason said, staring at me. He pointed at me accusingly. "The other night when you were here, when you brought that book of poems—I saw it. You looking like some simpering lovesick ass and her, she made a point to talk to you after church. I saw the two of you looking at one another. I'm not an idiot. I saw it—you wanted her. You took her, Adam. You stole her away and when she wouldn't be yours, you killed her so she couldn't talk."

I shoved Clem aside and grabbed Mason by his shirtfront, pulling him up so that the tips of his shiny black boots just skimmed the floor and I twisted the shirt so tightly that Mason couldn't breathe. He grabbed at my fist, desperately trying to force my fingers apart. His face quickly turned red.

"You lying, goddamn, cock-sucking bastard," I hissed at him. "I ought to drown you in your outhouse since you've got nothing but shit pouring out of your mouth anyway."

"Adam" Clem tried to separate me from Mason who was now becoming blue about the mouth but I wouldn't let go. Then Mason's eyes rolled back in his head and his clawing hands dropped away and all the kept him upright was me holding him by the shirtfront. "Adam, goddamn it-let him go before you kill him!"

I released Mason and he dropped to the ground. He quickly began to come around with a spasm of his chest, coughing, and then small movements.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Clem asked.

I found I was breathing hard and shaking slightly. "You heard what he said. I should kill him for that."

"Just take it easy, Adam." He looked down at Mason who was moaning on the floor and kept trying to raise himself but finally rested on one elbow, rubbing his throat. "Where are Hoss and Hannity?" Clem asked while I just stared down at Mason who did his best to avoid my eyes.

"I told them to check the barn and the yard—the whole area to see if anything's off." I was still shaking, my breathing rough.

"Go and check on them. Don't come back in here."

Mason raised himself with the help of a chair and then pointed a finger at me again, "Arrest him, Deputy! He tried to kill me."

"Shut up, Mason. If Adam wanted to kill you, he would have. Now settle down." Clem turned to me. "You better just leave, Adam, or I'll arrest you for battery."

I sighed deeply to get my breath steady. "All right, Clem. But check Mrs. Noble's bedroom. See if, well, Mason wouldn't know if she took clothes with her or not; they weren't intimate. See if there are empty hangers or empty drawers. I think she left him and I don't blame her. I'd leave the cocksucker too if I were her." And I walked out and joined my brother and Hannity in searching the property for clues.

Needless to say, we found nothing except some horse tracks in the front yard but then there were quite a few and none led anywhere but down the well-worn road. Hoss dismissed the idea of Indians. "Indians wouldn't 've left tracks but then, like we talked about on the way over, they wouldn't have left no decent stock behind. Hell, they would've taken those two buggy horses before they'd take Mrs. Noble; them horses would be worth more to 'em."

"I agree with Hoss," Hannity said. "I know Indians take women as squaws but it doesn't seem to me that they'd grab her outta the house. And when? According to what Roy told us, after Mason came to his office reporting she was missing, she could've just snuck out in the middle of the night. The Pine's bunkhouse is a good half mile from the house and Roy already talked to them—well, most of them. He sent Russell Tolliver and Old Jake to round up the hands who were on the property and he's gonna talk to them later."

Hoss looked troubled which meant he was thinking. "Adam, you don't think Mason done killed her, do you?" Hoss looked at me and Hannity looked down at the dirt—embarrassed.

"If Mason had a dick and a set of balls, I might consider it but as it is, no. I don't think Mason killed her. Oh, by the way, Hoss, I don't think Mason will want to continue our mining partnership anymore."

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, just a feeling. Let's go." And we mounted our horses and took off where the tracks led until Hoss noticed some broken underbrush and we followed the lead.

"Shouldn't we wait for Clem?" Hannity asked as our horses broke their way through some dense brush.

"Hell, no. Let him placate Mason. I did my best to choke the son-of-a-bitch so it might take Clem a while to settle him down." Neither of them said anything else to me and we searched with nothing for our efforts until it was too dark to continue.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

Hoss and I saddled up early. Pa's back ached and he could barely walk so he was going to sit out the day but Joe wanted to join.

"Stay here with Pa, would you?" I asked him.

"Pa doesn't need a nursemaid," Joe said, eager to come with us. "And Hop Sing's here; here can help Pa.."

"Joe," Hoss said, annoyed with little brother's stubbornness, "why you got to be so ornery?"

"I'm not. It's just that I always have to stay behind whenever anything exciting's going on. I can ride in a posse just as well as you or Adam or anyone else." Joe was petulant, his lower lip pouting out.

I sighed and stop cinching my horse. "Joe, just stay with Pa. I don't want to hear any more it—I've got enough to deal with."

"Look, Adam, you may be the oldest but you're not in charge so stop telling me what to do."

I looked at Hoss whose expression told me to do what was needed so I did. Hoss stopped to watch.

I faced down Joe who backed up a step. "I am telling you what to do, Joseph, because I am the oldest and despite what you might think, I am in charge—very much in charge. So you, as part of this family, are going to stay at home and keep Pa from any heroics that'll land him in bed for two weeks. You know he can't sit still long and he'll want to go chop wood or muck out stables or something else and you need to grab the shovel or axe out of his hand. Now, either you do as I said or you'll end up in bed for two weeks." Hoss guffawed and Joe flushed.

"Fine," Joe said. "You two just go off and leave me behind. And you just wait, Adam, There'll come a time when you'll beg me for help and I'll tell you no."

Hoss and I smiled at one another; that was Joe's 18 year old bravado speaking.

We mounted our horses and as we checked our cinches, Hoss said to Joe who scowled at us from the porch, "If you're a good boy while we're gone," Hoss said, "we'll bring you a little something back—like the dead ass of some outlaw and you can kick it around the yard."

Then Hoss and I rode off laughing while Joe stood glowering behind us.

Hoss and I were told to meet up with Hannity and Frank Verdun at Mormon's Crossing but when we arrived, only Frank was there.

"Where's Hannity?" Hoss and I sat on our horses. It was unlike Hannity to be late but then we were early. I was eager to start searching and had considered taking off to search alone and let the others wait for Hannity.

"Ain't no need to go on. Roy's group found Mrs. Noble's body early this morning—some land-loper found it. It was hidden in some brush by the side of the road to Carson City and he tossed it over his saddle and brought it into town. I 'spect he was hopin' for some reward"

I went cold and my ears began to sing with my throbbing pulse. Her "body." Jezebel was dead.

"Aw shit," Hoss spat out. "Fuck it all. She's dead then."

"Yeah," Frank said. "They took the body to Doc's and one of 'em went to bring Mason to identify her—legally, you know."

I have to admit that I just felt cold—nothing else but I must have wavered in my saddle or shown some reaction because Hoss grabbed my arm. "You okay, Adam?"

I took a deep breath. "Yeah, I just…I had hoped…"

"Damn shame," Frank said. "Such a pretty woman too. And Clyde Anderson told me that half her face is caved in like as someone pounded her face or smashed it with a rock."

"Shut up," I said threateningly.

"I'm just tellin' you what was told me."

"Well, I don't want to hear it so shut up."

"Okay, Adam. Well, I got work to do on my place so I'll be leaving you two." Frank turned his horse and rode away.

"Adam, ain't no point in us going on either. It's a shame though. Her so pretty and all…"

"You go back, Hoss. I'm going to Doc's."

"You ain't thinkin' about seein' her, are you? Why would you want to see her iffen what Frank heard is true? Dang, Adam."

I sighed and looked at Hoss. "I have to," I said and kicked my horse into a canter. I knew that Hoss was watching me ride off but he couldn't see the rage that was building inside me. Jezebel was dead and someone had hurt her terribly before she was killed. And I thought again about the way she looked in her wedding portrait and the way she looked as I lay with her, her beautiful face looking at me above her. I had to see her, I was compelled to see her and I would.

I rode up to Paul's and tied off my horse. There was a woman and a small boy waiting in the anteroom but I went straight back to the surgery; behind it was another room, a private room where I knew he placed bodies in order to examine them for cause of death. I was about to go in when Paul and Sheriff Coffee came out.

"Adam," Roy said, "why are you here? You got the news didn't you? No more need for a posse."

"Yes, Frank told me. I wanted to talk to Paul."

"There something you know that we don't about this?" Roy asked. "Mason identified his wife's body so what more could you add?"

"I don't know that I can add anything but if I could just see her I may be able to…don't you find all this unusual?"

Roy and Paul looked at each other, puzzled, and then at me.

"Now, Adam," Roy said, "I always find it unusual when a beautiful young woman is killed and I have no idea why—there's just no reason for it, at least not that I've uncovered yet. But I don't think you want to see Mrs. Noble; she's not a pretty sight."

"Besides," Paul added, "you're not kin, Adam. There's no law or anything but it doesn't seem proper…" There must have been something in my face because he suddenly agreed to let me look at Jezebel. Roy nodded approval and stepped into the back room with us.

Paul lit the overhead lamp since there was no window and I saw her body lying on a raised metal table with a sheet over her. I stared and then I walked closer taking off my hat out of respect. I picked up a lock of the dark hair. There was no auburn sheen to it. I pulled back the sheet but the face was unrecognizable. The left side of her face had been crushed either by a fist or a rock—it was hard for me to tell—and the insects and crows had already begun feasting on the flesh.

"It's not Jezebel Noble," I said.

"Why do you say that?" Roy asked moving closer. Paul did as well. They had both stood a respectful distance away while I had looked at the covered corpse.

"Well, for one, Mrs. Noble's hair has dark-reddish hues to it when the light hits it. This woman's hair is dark black." I pulled back the sheet. I felt a wave of relief. "And Jezebel's—Mrs. Noble's-hips are rounder, her waist smaller and this body's breasts are too large. And look at the hands. This woman's hands have done work, washed dishes or such. Mrs. Noble didn't even cook. It's not her despite what Mason said. But then Mason didn't really know his wife…in the Biblical sense."

"I guess you were right, Paul," Roy said and Paul Martin looked satisfied.

"About what?" I asked. The two men looked as if they were sharing some secret between them. I hate that, when people get that smug look on their faces when they have important knowledge that you don't.

"I don't think this is Mrs. Noble either despite Mason identifying her," Paul said. "I had only treated her that one time but this..." Paul sighed. "Roy was going to bring Mason again to see if he still believed it was his wife but if what you've told me about them is true, well, I'm inclined to believe we have an unknown body, at least for the time being. Someone may yet report a woman missing."

Roy rubbed his chin. "Adam, I'm a mite curious. How'd you come to be so familiar with Mrs. Noble's…hips?"

"I've admired her for quite a while and noticed her…hips."

"Well, now we do have a puzzle," Roy said. "Just who is this woman and where is Mrs. Noble? I think I need to gather a posse again and Paul, I'm going to drag Mason down here again to look at this woman no matter how much he claims distress."

I was hoping Roy wouldn't ask me any more questions and he didn't, just went out deep in thought. I was relieved it wasn't Jezebel but I also had the same issue as Roy; where then was Jezebel?

"Paul, when Jezebel Noble was ill, what was wrong?"

"Now, Adam, you know I can't discuss my patients."

"Well Mrs. Noble is dead, at least according to Mason. Can't you talk about the deceased?"

"Adam, I have a feeling as I'm sure Roy does, that you knew Jezebel Noble in an…intimate manner but I can't talk about her despite that possible relationship. I'm glad for your sake that this body probably isn't her…"

"Probably?"

"I still need Mason to come out and look at her again and make a statement before I can attest to the fact that it isn't she." But Paul had an odd expression.

"I see." And then I had a wave of anxiety and I knew what to ask. "She tried to kill herself that time, didn't she? That's why you were called out to see her?" I would have tried to intimidate Paul but it wouldn't work with him. So I begged. "Please, Paul. I need to know. It may hold the key."

"I suspect she did." Paul sighed. "I suppose that since Mrs. Noble is one signature short of being legally dead I can talk but it goes no further. She took an overdose of laudanum. Thank God that it wasn't lethal but it was close enough to being so. Her pulse was negligible and I honestly thought she was going to die…but she pulled through."

"Was it to get away from Mason? Is that why she took the overdose."

Paul looked puzzled. "Well first, she never confessed to taking an intentional overdose; she claimed she had a headache and accidently took too much. And as for Mason, he was honestly distraught, crying and begging me not to let her die. He seems to love her and she never said anything to me about his being any other way than a loving husband. I'm not surprised by what you said about them not being intimate—I always wondered about the match myself—but Mason does seem to care for her a great deal."

"I wonder then if he knows where she is, if she left him and he's just too damn proud to admit it."

In a quiet voice, Paul asked, "Wouldn't she have gone to you, Adam?"

I stood in the room and faced Paul. "I would hope so but she didn't. I want to find out where she is—if it takes years, I'll find out."


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

The posse, broken up into smaller groups, searched for two weeks and then Roy called it off. I can understand why—we must have searched every inch of the territory but there was no sign of Jezebel Noble nor had anyone seen her but we did discover that the woman's body that had been found was the victim of an angry Carson City madam's henchmen, at least that was Roy's unproven conclusion after conferring with the sheriff of Carson City.

Her name was Mandy Watson and she worked at The Trotter, a cheap whorehouse. It seems that one of her customers reported her missing, having become suspicious after she hadn't come to the mine to service him and his three brothers as she usually did on Tuesday nights. Roy said that the sheriff of Carson City deduced that it was discovered that Miss Watson was making money on the side by spreading her legs for some local miners and then pocketing all the cash herself. "More'n likely savin' for her old age," Hoss had added. Of course, there was no way to prove who had murdered Miss Watson but the miner who had reported her missing, noted that the other whores at the brothel looked down or to the side, anywhere but at his face, and said they didn't know what had become of her. He identified the body. Mason, on the other hand, after he was dragged back into Doc Martin's, broke down again and confessed that he couldn't identify the body; he had never seen his wife in the all in all and had been so distressed the first time having just been told that a woman's body had been discovered, that he had barely looked at the dead woman—couldn't bear to look. He wasn't sure if it was Jezebel or not but, yes, he agreed when Paul brought up the color of the hair, it was too dark in color. And that was the end of that-Jezebel was apparently still alive so the search was called off. But not for me.

I was always looking for Jezebel whenever I went to Carson City or Reno or Sacramento City or anywhere else but I never saw her again until a little over a year later. I had traveled to New Orleans and what better place to meet up with Jezebel again than that elegant yet dissolute city.

I don't like New Orleans. No two places could as disparate then the humid climate of Louisiana and the dry air of Nevada. I don't particularly care for the cold but the heat of New Orleans wears me down, exhausts me and decay and mildew is everywhere; the moisture seems to have seeped into the masonry and it's no wonder that the buildings have that distinguishable smell of deterioration. Nevertheless, the New Orleans port is a major one and I had to deliver ten bales of pelts to Captain Norman Hale of the Bayliss.

I met with Captain Hale, a weathered man of indeterminate age, bought him two beers as we discussed terms after his having examined the beaver and coyote pelts, and wrote him a receipt for his $500.00 payment. Then we shook hands again and he stayed to become drunk and I left to eat dinner at my hotel, feeling better because I could head home tomorrow. My business was finished. I was almost to my hotel when I heard a man's voice call my name. At first it didn't register but I stopped and turned and after a moment, I recognized the smiling face.

"Lom? Lom Caswell? Well, you sunavabitch," I said, putting out my hand. He clasped it and we laughed as we shook hands.

"Of all the places to see you, Adam, who'd have thought it'd be New Orleans?" Lom said, grinning. Lom and I had both been architecture students in college and also friends. He was an easy-going, intelligent man and we had shared many a night studying for exams, drinking pots of bitter coffee, or sitting in the university's library poring over old tomes to glean what we needed for the papers we had to write.

"Well, I'm here on business—finished business," I said. "I'm leaving tomorrow. Come have dinner with me—my treat and we can catch up on old times."

"Better yet," Lom said. "Come home with me; my wife will be glad to meet you."

"I don't want to intrude."

"You're not intruding. Jezzie doesn't cook, my Aunt Handy does and she loves company as well."

My breath caught. "Jezzie?"

"Short for Jezebel. I know, I know—the name. People always raise an eyebrow. Say you'll come."

"Of course I will," I managed to say. I had to go. I knew it was Jezebel, my Jezebel, Mason's wife, the missing woman, the woman who had invited me to lie between her thighs. I knew it was Jezebel Noble but I had to see her with my own eyes.

"Jezzie?" Lom called as he walked in. "Jezzie! I ran into an old college friend and invited him to dinner. Aunt Handy! We have a dinner guest. Come meet him!" Lom took off his Homburg and hung it on a coat rack by the front door. "Take off your hat and jacket, Adam. Make yourself at home."

I did. My heart was about to pound out of my chest and I was sweating like a stallion. I could almost smell her, that smell of a woman that always intrigued me. Lom bid me sit and I was about to when a round, plump, florid woman came into the parlor. It was a well-kept room—neat and not showy. There were doilies on all the tables under the vases of flowers and small statues of cherubs and children. Lace antimacassars were on the plush crewel-embroidered chairs and the floral printed sofa. A homey fire burned on the grate and elegant drapes hung at every window, the sheers being the womanly touch. Landscapes and paintings of flowers were on the wall and I felt suffocated. I could have never live in a home like that.

Nevertheless, Lom's Aunt Handy greeted me with a welcoming smile and said she was delighted to meet one of her nephew's friends. He worked so hard at the bank, she said, that the only person he ever saw was his wife. It seemed from the way she said, "his wife," that she didn't care for Jezzie. Her face had even taken on an unpleasant expression, as if she had tasted something bitter.

Aunt Handy turned to go back to the kitchen but first she said, "Dinner will be another twenty minutes—a nice roast with fried potatoes and braised carrots. I hope you like the fare, Adam," she said, "Nothing fancy but good, wholesome food. And there's peach cobbler for dessert." I told her that I could hardly wait and then Lom stood up and looked toward the stairs to our side. His aunt glanced in the same direction and then left the room.

I knew that Jezebel was coming down and I waited before turning. Part of me hoped it wasn't Jezebel because if it was, well, I didn't know what I would do. And part of me hoped it was because I wanted to know what had become of her and I wanted to see her again. Since her disappearance, I had been plagued with dreams of her, dreams filled with anxiety and fear and overwhelming feelings of helplessness and longing. It always seemed as if I was searching for Jezebel and she was constantly just out of my reach. I would see her shadow as she passed by me and I was always too late to see her. I would wake up sweating, my heart thumping, the sane way it was thumping now.

I turned and yes, it was Jezebel. She looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her. Her figure had filled out slightly and it made her more desirable, her cheeks were rosy and her hair was still its glossy auburn, part of it pulled back off her lovely face.

She recognized me immediately. I didn't smile—I saw no reason to but only looked at her while Lom started to introduce me. Jezebel blanched and then one foot slipped on a stair and she caught herself on the bannister. Both Lom and I went to her but I stopped myself as he reached her first and caught her up.

"Jezzie," Lom said, "I should have waited until you were completely down the stairs before I distracted you. Are you all right, my dear?"

"Yes, I'm fine, sweetheart. I'm fine." She stood and brushed back her hair and smoothed her skirts, composing herself. She avoided looking at me. "Just let me sit down a moment. That took me breath away." Lom helped her to one of the chairs and I watched them. Lom was obviously madly in love with his beautiful wife but I couldn't read Jezebel's emotions.

Lom introduced us and Jezebel was polite but I knew she was hoping I wouldn't say anything—and I didn't. I felt it wasn't my place to reveal that she had a husband back in Nevada or that she and I had a tryst once. It was her place to do so. Nevertheless, Lom was an old friend and I argued with myself that night as I lay in the bed in my hotel room about whether or not I should let Lom know before I left New Orleans that his wife had a previous husband or if I should wait and let Sherriff Coffee know once I was home. Then I could push off the responsibility on him as to whether or not to tell Mason Noble about his runaway, bigamist wife.

At dinner, I asked Lom how he and Jezebel had met. Aunt Handy sniffed and continued to silently eat. Up to that point, she had been chattering away, obviously happy to have a guest at the table and an old friend of her nephew's as well.

Jezebel talked very little and avoided me, concentrating on destroying the food on her plate by moving it around without really eating. Aunt Handy commented on it.

"Isn't the roast cooked to your liking?" she had practically spat at Jezebel. "I don't know why you won't raise a finger in the kitchen and yet nothing I fix is to your liking."

"Aunt Handy, please," Lom said. Jezebel ignored what Lom's aunt had said. "We have company. Let's not argue among ourselves and we've had this same 'one' at least once a week. You're a wonderful cook, Aunt Handy and that's why Jezebel leaves the kitchen and cooking to you. She wouldn't dream of imposing."

"Lom," Jezebel said. "You don't need to defend me, darling. I'm sure it's just the heat of the kitchen that puts Aunt Handy in such a temper."

"Now you listen here, Miss High and Mighty…" Aunt Handy's temper was flaring, her cheeks become red and splotchy.

"Adam, you asked how Jezzie and I met," Lom said quickly and Aunt Handy went back to her food but I could hear her mumbling under her breath. Lom said that it was fate that had brought Jezzie into the bank that morning and he had fallen in love with her when she came to his teller window to deposit money. He had asked her to dinner, he said, and they were married two weeks later. "And," Lom added, "we've been so happy ever since." He had even reached over and squeezed Jezebel's hand and she smiled at him. And all dinner Jezebel had avoided speaking to me or even looking at me—it was like the old days when Jezebel Noble walked around as a ghost. But I found I still longed for her, to touch Jezebel. The remembered image of her standing like a water goddess in the lake and the recollected feel of her white, round thighs, the smell of her skin, the taste of her mouth and the moist heat between her legs drove me to such arousal that I thought I would have to leave the table. I don't know why Jezebel should have that hold on me but seeing her again brought back all my feelings.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

Late at night here was a knock on my hotel door and my first thought was that it was Jezebel. But, I considered, it might be Jezebel but with a .45 in her hand so after lighting the lamp, I slipped on my trousers and pulled my gun from its holster. Then I answered the door. It was Jezebel but she wasn't holding a gun but that didn't mean that she didn't have one in her reticule or somewhere else on her person. Jezebel Noble Caswell was a desperate woman—her face reflected that.

"You do realize it's past midnight?" I asked as I stepped aside to let her in. "What will your husband say? The one here in New Orleans, that is?" I closed the door and holstered my gun but I was careful not to turn my back to her.

"Please…Adam, please don't tell Lom about Mason and don't tell Mason about Lom. Please—I beg you. Just let me be gone from Nevada. It has nothing to do with you."

I crossed my arms across my chest and leaned against the bureau. I almost enjoyed the power I had over Jezebel—actually, I did enjoy it. If I had told her that I would remain silent if she fished out my cock with her tongue, she'd do it. Jezebel would do anything I asked her, she was that desperate but my only virtue is that I can't suffer bullies and so I controlled my urge to vaunt my position of power.

"I had never considered how many problems can arise for a woman with more than one husband. You have gotten yourself in quite the peccadillo, haven't you, Jezzie?" I put special emphasis on the nickname.

"Go ahead and be sarcastic. Call me names if you like but just swear that you won't tell anyone about me, especially Lom."

"I won't have to tell him" I said, "because you will."

Jezebel sat down on the bed as if her legs had given out on her. "Adam you don't understand—anything. If you did…."

"Do you know that we thought you were dead, that we searched for you for two weeks and that I continued to look for you? Everywhere I went, I looked for you since we never found your body. When I thought you were dead, I was devastated and so was Mason." She sat silently and then the tears started but I resolved not to weaken at her supposed frailty; she was probably acting.

"You don't know what it was like to be married to Mason. He is a decent enough man, I suppose,despite the fact that he took his belt to me but if I'm to be honest, I had just lain with someone—you. But I can't bear to have him near me. He repulses me and the fact that he grieved, well, I am sorry that I caused him distress but he must have known why I left him."

"You married him, Jezebel."

She looked up at me, furious. "I had no choice. My father gave me to him, forced me to marry Mason."

"Your father was that desperate to marry you off? I can't believe, as devious as you seem to be, that you couldn't get out of a forced marriage."

"I was in love with someone else. His name was Vincent Antonelli and we were in love, madly in love and wanted to marry but my father said no. Vincent was never going to amount to anything, he said, and besides, he had that…accent. I thought he was heavenly—so handsome and dark—like you, Adam. Anyway, I was determined so I had…relations with him and told me father thinking that now he would be forced to let me marry Vincent; no one would want me then as I was basically unmarriageable, I had lost my much-valued virginity but it only served to infuriate my father and he found someone to marry me; an old bachelor acquaintance of his named Mason Noble."

Jezebel looked to me but I revealed nothing—or at least tried not to. She continued.

"So I was unhappy—for years. I never knew what became of Vincent—never. I suppose he married a nice Italian girl—hopefully without a mustache. But I'm still young, still vital and I just couldn't bear the thought of wasting my life with Mason, not having love in my life anymore—no romance—no man to take me. I had even tried….I wanted to end it one night, I was so unhappy, so hopeless but then…I changed my mind and made myself retch but the laudanum I had taken, well, it made me so ill. Stupid. I was stupid but that's how unhappy I was."

"What about me, Jezebel? What purpose did I serve? Why spread your legs for me when you could lift your skirts for anyone?" My heart started pounding again at the memory of us on the sofa and Jezebel moaning in pleasure beneath me, of her silky thighs and her warmth and wetness. I wanted her again.

She looked up at me with her beautiful eyes—those deep, dark eyes. A poet would say something highly romantic such as her eyes were limpid pools in which the lover gladly drowned and in a way, it was like that. I lost myself for a moment as I looked at her and found I wasn't breathing waiting to hear what she would say.

"Because I chose you. Out of all of them, I chose you. You forget, I'm a woman, a woman made of flesh and blood who has needs and wants. I wanted to be touched and caressed, to be taken and feel a man's body against me and in me, muscled and hard. I wanted you, to be ravished by you. You are the most beautiful man I know, the only one I wanted. I also knew—somehow—that you would be discreet. My hope was that we could be lovers. I could go on in my sham of a marriage if there was something waiting for me-our next tryst. It would give me a reason to go on."

"So why didn't you stay? After all, we couldn't very well be lovers if you left."

"Would you have agreed to be my lover, Adam?" She looked up at me, her eyes narrowed.

I thought for a moment. "I don't know. I'd like to think I wouldn't but I do find you beautiful. I don't know, Jezebel. After the roll on the sofa, well, I would have to keep from ever being alone with you again."

"Mason suspected I had been with someone. It was the night before church service, do you remember?" I nodded. "Mason caught me pleasuring myself. He had walked into my bedroom to tell me goodnight, I suppose—if he didn't come home very late he would come to tell me goodnight-and there I was. It was almost funny the way he turned red with embarrassment and stammered and apologized. He looked everywhere else but at me and then he saw my skirts. He picked my underskirt from where I had thrown it. Your seed was dried on it and the fabric was stiff and stained at the area where it had pooled out of me. Then I panicked, tried to jerk it out of his hands. He accused me of being a whore—but he wasn't wrong, was he? He thought I was taking one of the ranch hands as a lover and said he was going to fire them all—or turn me over to them with instructions to enjoy me as many times as they wanted—he hadn't yet decided. I didn't know that Mason could be so determined but no man likes to be a cuckold, I suppose. He asked me who it was and I denied anything—just claimed that I spilled something on my skirt and it stained my petticoat as well. He didn't believe me, of course—it was a poor lie. Mason was furious. He pulled off his belt and he strapped me across my thighs and buttocks. No matter where I turned, how much I tried to avoid it, he kept at me until he could barely lift his arm and was wheezing pathetically. I hid in a corner as he tried to get his breath. Finally, he left and that was when I made the plans to leave him; it kept my focus off the stings of the leather. I tried to let you know that I was leaving—tried to apologize to you by giving you the sonnet."

"Sonnet 45." I still remembered.

"Yes. I thought it would be obvious but now, in retrospect, seeing how you really knew nothing about my situation, I see how foolish the idea was. Do you remember the lines at the end?

_Then think, my dear, that you in me do read _

_Of lovers' ruin some sad tragedy: _

_I am not I, pity the tale of me._

I hoped that if you pitied me, you could forgive me, not just for leaving but for dragging you in. Now I can see that it was merely self-indulgence on my part but I honestly didn't think that Mason would have me declared dead, just maybe tell everyone that I had gone back east to visit family, some lie to save face. And now that you know it all, I ask you, please, Adam, don't tell Lom or Mason. Let me be happy here being Mrs. Caswell."

"I can't."

Jezebel stood up. "Why not? And don't say it's because you're friends with Lom. You haven't seen each other in years and besides, you should want Lom to be happy and he's happy with me—he loves me."

"He certainly seems to but then why shouldn't he? You play the part well. But I can't allow this fraud of a marriage to go on. If you won't tell him, that's fine. I won't tell him nor will I tell Mason. Actually, Mason and I had a small disagreement—he accused me of killing you and I expressed my annoyance. I came near to throttling him so I think I should tell Sheriff Coffee and he can inform Mason that his wife is alive and well and married to another man. And just to let you know, we looked for you. About twenty of us searched the countryside after Mason reported you missing. You could have at least had the decency to leave a note telling him you had run away from home. Even small children have the consideration to do that."

"You trivialize everything!" Jezebel was angry.

"No, Jezebel, I don't, and I certainly don't trivialize you. You could have come to me—I would have helped. Are you aware of how much damage you've done or doesn't that bother you?"

"Adam, it's been a long time since I left Mason. Can't you just forget all that? Please, please leave things be."

She stood in front of me, so close that I could smell her perfumed skin and see the lamp light reflected in her eyes.

"No."

Jezebel put a hand on my chest and I have to admit that a thrill ran through me at her touch. Damn, she made me hard. She moved closer to me, swaying a bit.

"Adam, what if I let you have me again? I'll let you do what you want—take me anyway you want, I'll… I'll pleasure you with my mouth. I'll do anything you desire—anything—if you will only just leave me alone afterwards and not tell anyone about seeing me again. I'll let you take your belt to me if that's what you want, if you would enjoy that. I noticed it excited you when I told you about Mason strapping me. I'll let you do it and won't make a sound. Will you feel better than, having punished me?"

Jezebel put one hand behind my neck and pulled my head down to kiss me and I have to admit that I enjoyed it. Her mouth was sweet, hot and inviting and she allowed my tongue to probe between her lips. Then she broke away from me and smiling, she went to the bed and sat down on the end. She reached down and pulled off her small heeled shoes and then, after pulling up her skirts and showing her legs with the garters holding up her black stockings, she lay back, stretching her arms out for me, inviting me to go to her.

I walked over and lifted her thighs off the bed and spread those lovely legs. I looked at the delicious sight moistly waiting for my mouth or my cock…I could practically taste her but I dropped her legs and she gave a small gasp of surprise.

"No, Jezebel, I do want you and I came close to taking you but I won't. Go home and tell Lom about Mason. If you tell him what you told me—that is if it's the truth—he'll understand and forgive you. Get a good lawyer as your marriage to Lom is illegal—null and void. And if you have no money to pay a lawyer, I'll loan you what you need—or you can pay him on your back."

Jezebel sat up. She glared at me while she slipped on her shoes. "You are a cruel man, Adam Cartwright. I hate you!" She stood up and smoothed her skirts. She went to the door but before she left, while she still had the door knob in her hand, she turned and glared at me. Had she been a man, I would have feared for my life. "I'll tell Lom about Mason. You've left me no choice. Lom loves me and he'll stand by me." She started to go out and then turned, her eyes wide. "You wouldn't tell him about us, about the time we-about the past or about, about what just happened?"

"No, Jezebel, I won't tell him. And nothing happened. I haven't told anyone about our little fuck and I don't intend to."

She nodded, dropping her eyes, and then left, closing the door behind her. And I have to admit that I regretted not taking Jezebel as she had lain on my bed, so inviting.

I knew I wouldn't get much sleep that night and I didn't. And the next morning as I shaved, the bellhop came to my door with a note. I gave him a nickel and unfolded it. It was from Lom Caswell.

"_Adam, please take Mrs. Noble back to Nevada with you as I have asked her to immediately leave. She told me that you know about her true husband. I cannot bear to have her near me anymore. She will be waiting at the house for you to fetch her. I want her gone by the time I get home this evening and I would like you to be certain that she arrives at the sheriff's office in Virginia City. I know it's much to ask but please, for our friendship, take her away."_

"Oh shit," I crumpled the paper. I hadn't expected this—it was the last thing I wanted but since I had brought this wall of bricks crashing down on Lom Caswell, it was the least I could do. And I wondered if he was cursing my name for being the harbinger of despair.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 12**

I probably should have left things the way I found them. What did it matter if Jezebel had two husbands, three husbands or forty? Lom had been a happy man and I couldn't really blame Jezebel for leaving Mason even if he had never raised a hand to her. But I knew why I had insisted that Jezebel tell Lom about Mason—I was jealous. I wanted her, desired her and she had married Lom Caswell and the thought of their finding delights in each other's arms, well, my nature is such that I wanted revenge. Oh, I know that I could hide behind the fact that Jezebel had deceived all of us, that she was manipulative and selfish and flouted the law and conned Lom, but I knew that it was because I wasn't slipping it to her and someone else was and that she had used me for her own means. Yes, I had been conned, used and it infuriated me. I'm a vindictive bastard.

I pondered it while I sat in the drawing room car, the scenery flying by. The car was hot although it must have been more comfortable that the regular car with the passengers crowded in more narrow seats and the air full of the stench of sweating bodies and the food that most passengers had packed for their trip declining the courtesy and the cost of the dining car. The porter though brought us glasses of iced water and we could purchase newspapers, candies and oranges from the boys walking up and down the aisle hawking them. I offered to buy something for Jezebel but she declined with a brusque, "No, thank you."

I did have concerns every night about the sleeping car into which we would be turned for the night. After all, we had a long journey ahead of us and I couldn't see Jezebel sleeping in the seat as they did in the regular passenger car, rumpling her clothing and having to contort her body in order to sleep so I had paid extra for both the roomy day car and the berths. But then, having Jezebel separate from me, sleeping behind some curtain drawn around a berth, well, I wondered if during some night we wouldn't make a whistle stop and Jezebel would silently debark while I slept under the crisp linens. But, I told myself, what if she did? It was nothing to me. Or at least I tried to convince myself it wasn't important. Jezebel wasn't actually a criminal, per se, and I wasn't a deputy bringing her in to hang for a string of murders.

Every once in a while glancing at Jezebel sitting beside me in the drawing room car, I would be struck by her beauty as if I was seeing her for the first time. She wore a simple dark-blue traveling suit and a small hat decorated with cherries and lace, her dark hair in a braided knot at the nape of her neck. She should have come to me, I decided—not taken off for parts unknown after Mason beat her. I would have given her sanctuary on the Ponderosa, helped her find a lawyer. Hell, I would have paid for the lawyer just to have the chance of marrying Jezebel myself, of making her Mrs. Adam Cartwright.

On our way to the train station, her Gladstone bag and portmanteau at our feet in the rented buggy, Jezebel told me—after I asked, that is—that when she had decided to finally leave Mason, she had packed the Gladstone and taken out on foot. She had walked hours in the dark of night and about an hour after daybreak, a farmer came along and gave her a ride to Carson City and a heel of bread from his lunch packed by his wife. Jezebel then caught the stage and eventually made her way by train to New Orleans. She had forty dollars in Virginia City script and managed to find a hotel room after depositing the money in the bank where Lom worked. Her voice broke when she mentioned Lom's name and she had to look out the train window, pausing until she could speak again. But all that she had to say was that she had been happy and after a few months, she had decided that Mason would never find her—no one would. She left it unsaid that I had found her and with my discovery, her life had come crashing down.

In the two and a half days we had traveled, Jezebel and I had barely spoken. I didn't blame her for hating me but it made me uncomfortable that she did. I had asked her early on if she had loved Lom. Jezebel had gazed blankly ahead and then she said in a broken voice, "He was good to me. He loved me and for that, I loved him."

That was the worst thing she could have said to me. I honestly felt if I spoke, I would have cried. What a cruel bastard I was. I regretted having forced her to tell Lom about Mason and tried to justify my behavior over and over as I have said. But I would look at her sad, beautiful face and hate myself.

We finally reached the terminus at Kansas City and had to switch to a coach for a few miles until we reached Cheyenne's depot. There were freight trains carrying coal and ore out of Kansas City but no passenger trains although track was being laid, some of it with Ponderosa lumber. So I helped a weary Jezebel off the train and informed her that we would be staying overnight and catching the coach out in the morning.

I was familiar with Kansas City as I had traveled back and forth from distant cities many a time so I flagged a hack that was lined up at the terminal to take us to the Broadstreet hotel. It wasn't the best hotel in the city but it was far from the worst. The rooms were clean, the linens vermin free and I didn't cost much more for a room with a bath. I was looking forward to a hot bath and a good meal and changing into fresh clothes.

I had put one hand on the small of Jezebel's back to guide her into the hotel but she turned and shrugged it off so I walked ahead while Jezebel silently followed me into the lobby. I signed us in as Mr. and Mrs. Adam Cartwright.

"Well, Mr. Cartwright, we hope your stay will be pleasant for you and your wife." He snapped his fingers and a boy came over. "Take their luggage please." The boy struggled and I told him that I would carry my own luggage, a carpet bag, and he looked relieved.

It was only after the boy carried our luggage up and I had tipped him and closed the door behind him that Jezebel turned to me and spoke. "You are conniving, aren't you? Mr. and Mrs. Adam Cartwright? Really, Adam." She looked at the double bed and then walked to the mirror above the vanity and unpinned her hat and took it off. She turned to face me again. "This is what you wanted the whole time, isn't it? What are you going to do? Plow me until I can't walk? You must have imagined this scenario many times over as we traveled together. You could have had me in New Orleans but that wouldn't have been enough for you, would it? You're as bad as Mason, as bad as my father, treating me just as a body to be given away at the whim of a man."

I had taken off my hat and thrown it on an upholstered chair that stood in the corner. While Jezebel had talked, I had taken off my jacket and loosened my tie.

"No. You see that chair in the corner? That's where I'll sleep. Don't worry, Jezebel, I won't touch you but I do have an ulterior motive; I don't trust you and if you had your own room well, you'd just leave, wouldn't you?"

"What if I did? What would it matter to you? What do you care? I'm not going back to Mason, even if he would want me back which, of course, he won't. Are you going to have me arrested for bigamy? Have me prosecuted? Will they hang me or lock me in prison? I wouldn't be surprised if my marriage to Lom is already annulled by now; he was a bit upset, after all. And what will I do if I'm not sent to prison, if there is no prosecution? I have no money—Aunt Handy saw to that—where will I stay? Nothing lies ahead for me, Adam. Nothing but misery and I have you to thank." She pulled off her jacket and lay on the bed, curling up, her back to me and I stood and looked at her narrow back, so vulnerable.

I gathered my clean clothes and my shaving bag. "I'm having a bath." I was running the water in the bathing room when I remembered. I went out and walked over to where I had placed the key. I locked us in and took the key with me to enjoy the warm water of a cleansing bath.

We ate silently in the hotel restaurant. Jezebel said that she would wait until after dinner to have her bath so we had gone down and both ordered the chicken and dumplings. The fare in the restaurant was homey and filling and I had cherry pie for dessert. Jezebel had picked at her food, barely eating any of it.

Earlier, while I bathed, I considered what she had said. Would she be prosecuted in Nevada? I have to admit that I had never seriously considered it. There had been no children from her marriage, no financial motivation. Jezebel had only wanted to live a pleasant life and Lom had offered it. But his Aunt Handy did detest Jezebel and I hadn't realized how very much until that morning when I went to the Caswell house to pick up Jezebel.

I had arrived at Lom's house to fetch Jezebel about 10 in the morning and his Aunt Handy opened the door to me. Jezebel was quietly sitting on the sofa with her luggage at her feet. She had looked up at me and it was obvious that she had been crying; her face was splotchy and her eyes were swollen.

"Take her," Aunt Handy had said. "See that the law deals with her in Virginia City."

"Mrs. Caswell, Jezebel did what she did to save…she didn't marry Lom to hurt him."

"We don't care, Lom and I. Just take her away and I have to tell you, she has no money on her—we've given her none-let the whore earn it on her back. But here, this is to defray the traveling costs." She reached into her apron pocket and handed me four silver dollars. "Get her out of here. I never want to look on her again. I told Lom from the very beginning that she was bad. I could see it but he never could—didn't want to see it. But a woman knows another woman."

Jezebel stood up and lifted her bags but I quickly took them from her. She glanced at me and then looked away. As Jezebel passed Lom's Aunt Handy, the woman spat after her and hissed, "Whore." I followed Jezebel out and helped her into the buggy and she said nothing to me or even looked at me. As I've said before, I didn't blame her for hating me and I felt such deep regret for what I had done.

"I'm sorry, Jezebel, so sorry," I said as she sat stiffly beside me. And she took to weeping again as we passed through the narrow streets of New Orleans on our way to the depot.


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning: Non-graphic sexual assault. I put the section in **_**italics**_** so that you can easily skip the section if you prefer. It's near the end of this chapter.**

**Part 13**

I was asleep in the chair covered by an extra blanket when I woke to a noise. Other than a slight jolt, I didn't move, just opened my eyes and then I felt the cold barrel of my own gun to my temple.

"Give me the key," Jezebel said, "and some money. That's all I want."

"You might as well just blow a hole in my head. Then you can go through my pockets for the key. But now that I think about it, it'd be far more enjoyable if you'd go through my pockets first—just grab ahold of anything you can feel—grab and rub. Then I won't mind my brains being splattered on that wall afterwards."

"Give…me…the…key," she said, enunciating each word but her hand was shaking slightly.

"No." I pulled my head away from the gun barrel and stood up.

"I'll shoot, you, Adam. I will." Her eyes were narrowed and I could tell she was nervous. Even if she had no intention of really shooting me, she might accidentally do so now.

"Go ahead." I waited not sure my bluff would be successful, but it was. Jezebel dropped her hand and I grabbed the gun away from her, having to grab her wrist first. Then she sat back down on the bed and began to cry, covering her face with her hands.

I glanced at my pocket watch; it was a little past 6:00 am. She was dressed in her green suit and matching hat, the one she had worn the night I took her on the sofa. "Well, at least you're dressed and ready to go. The stage leaves at 9:00. We'll have breakfast first. Jezzie…" She looked up at me, wiping her tears away. "I won't let anything happen to you. I'll speak in your defense. What you did isn't that awful and I can't say that I blame you. Actually," I sat back down, after holstering my gun, "I, well, I probably should have just kept my mouth shut and let you continue in your marriage to Lom. I wish I had."

"Why didn't you then? Why do you hate me so much now?" she asked. "I know you wanted me—you always have. I'm not blind. I could see you sweat and your sex become hard whenever I moved near you. I used to walk down the church aisle and just feel your eyes on me; your lust was almost palpable, Adam, and I would swing my hips just for you."

"Just for me, Jezzie? I feel so special." I was nastier than usual because everything she said about me was true. "But I don't hate you. I, just…" I sat down opposite her on the chair in which I had slept. "I tell myself that I did what I did because it was the only right thing to do—you did have two husbands at one time. And I do think that it was the right thing but…" I sighed deeply. "I did the right thing but for the wrong reason." I hesitated and then confessed. "I was jealous—pure and simple-jealous of Lom, jealous of Mason and what better way than to have you tell Lom about Mason. And then Mason, knowing you married someone else, to perhaps divorce you and set you free—for me, that is. I can't say that I thought all this out or that I even planned it but it does seem, at least to me, that in the back of my mind, that was what I wanted. Maybe I even hoped you'd turn to me but, well," I chuckled, "I suppose that bird has flown."

Jezebel stood up and walked over to the mirror. She took off her hat, the green hat with the rust-orange plume and adjusted her hair. "If we're going to leave on time, you had best get ready. I want to get back to Virginia City." She looked at herself and straightened up, seemingly to become resolved that she had to face what she had done. "Mason might very well still want me." She turned to look at me. "As odd as that may seem, he might, if for no other reason than to punish me in his own way." She then looked back at the mirror, opened her reticule which she had placed on the vanity and pulled out a small metal box. She clicked it open and with a small puff, powdered her nose and cheeks. I went to shave, the key to the door still in my pants' pocket.

There were three other people on the stage coach besides Jezebel and me—two men, one about my age who was quiet, a well-dressed older man with a huge belly and his highly adorned plump wife with a high complexion; the two of them took up the whole seat. They both sat with their hands comfortably resting on their stomachs. I sat near the window, Jezebel next to me and then the other man. Riding in a coach made me and I'm sure others, uncomfortable—you never knew where to look. I always solved that issue by pulling my hat down over my eyes and dozing. The motion of the coach was like being rocked to sleep in your mother's arms.

Jezebel and the woman took up a conversation; I noticed that Jezebel didn't care to talk but the other woman insisted. As she spoke, I could hear the clacking of the string of pearls she wore. I opened one eye to see if my guess was right, that she played with them as she spoke—she did. Mrs. Humphrey, her name she said when she introduced herself, had quadrupled the long stand and wore matching earrings of dangling creamy pearls. I don't usually notice those things but I did those because I thought it was foolish to travel wearing such valuable jewelry. But then, maybe they were glass but even glass imitations weren't cheap. The best were made in Spain and cost quite a bit. So I had pulled my hat down farther to escape being pulled in.

As far as the others in the coach were concerned, Jezebel and I were husband and wife. She still wore her wedding band although it was covered by her glove so it was an easy enough lie. Jezebel didn't protest, just accepted the ruse. So I alternately dozed between short spurts of wakefulness whenever Jezebel's voice broke through my somnolence. Otherwise, it was a calm trip to a point.

It was a few hours out and we were nowhere in particular when the coach stopped and I jerked awake. The others were as surprised as I. My hand went to my holster and I drew my gun and was about to open the coach door when I heard the other young man speak for the first time; he had only nodded to us when we had boarded.

"Now I'd just drop that gun if I were you, mister, 'cause I got a gun stuck right into your wife's ribs."

I glanced at Jezebel and her face was stiff with fear. With deliberate calm, I leaned over and placed my gun on the floor of the stage and held up my empty hands.

"You in there, Jancey?" A booming voice came from outside.

"Yeah," he shouted. "Only four people in here—no problems. They all seem very cooperative. I guess they want to live." He chuckled and then motioned to us with his gun. "Now all of you get out in an orderly fashion. First you." He pointed the barrel at me so I did as he asked being very careful not to behave in any manner that would give any of them, the man named Jancey inside as well as whoever was outside, a reason to cut me down.

There were three men outside, two on horseback holding six-shooters and one standing on the ground holding a rifle. I looked up at the whip and he sat on his seat holding up his hands. His rifle and six-shooter were in the dust. I turned to help Mrs. Humphrey down as well as her husband who awkwardly managed to climb out without my assistance. The fear in their faces was blatant. I hoped it wasn't so with me because I was afraid but not for myself; I had been through situations like this before and if one remained calm, your money and valuables were taken and then you continued on your way, but I feared for Jezebel because as she came out I reached for her but Jancey, behind her, waved me off with his gun and she practically fell. It was only that I was able to grip her forearm that she didn't land in the dirt. I heard a rifle being jacked and the command, "Stand back, mister." So I did. Jezebel looked at me with those large, trusting eyes of hers. I was overcome with guilt for the situation in which I had mired her.

Finally we were all four standing outside the coach. Jancey who had stopped to pick up my gun and tossed it a distance, proceeded to take off his hat, hold it out and ask for all and any valuables. "And don't hold back," he warned us.

"C'mon lady," Jancey said to Mrs. Humphrey, "put them ear bobs and that necklace in my hat. Hurry."

"Oh, my," she said, sweating. Her face glowed from perspiration and fear. She turned to her husband. "Do something, dear. I can't give him my pearls. They're too dear."

The four men laughed and Jancey, grinning, grabbed the four loops of pearls all at one time and tore them from her neck. Mrs. Humphrey fell over and landed on her hands and knees in the dust from the force; the strands didn't give easily. I started to go to her but Jancey turned and held his gun on me.

"Back up, mister." I did and he turned his attentions to Mrs. Humphrey who had managed to get to her feet, sobbing. "Now lessen you want me to rip them ear bobs from your ears, take them off." She took off her earrings and with shaking hands, dropped them in the hat. Her husband handed over his pocket watch and its thick gold chain and a ruby pinky ring.

"Give me them cuff links as well. Hurry." Mr. Humphrey fumbled with them, his fingers like sausages. He wasn't nimble enough to remove them quickly so Jancey reached for them and tugged them off. "Fat pig," Jancey hissed. "Fat men got too much money to buy food. Gluttony's a sin, you know and you're going to hell for it."

I chuckled and Jancey looked at me. "What's so goddamn funny?"

"Theft is a sin as well, or did you forget that? I just find it humorous that you're chastising him for gluttony and threatening him with hell. Do you think you're not destined for hell as well?"

Jancey glared at me. "You just shut-up, mister, or you won't be talkin' anymore except through a hole between your eyes."

"Adam, please…" Jezebel said quietly. I turned to her. She begged me with her eyes so I said nothing more.

"Just finish up," the man holding the rifle on us said. "Stop jawing with them and get their things. There's no Fargo box on this stage."

Jancey turned to Jezebel. "Give me anything you got that worth's anything."

One of the mounted men laughed. "Take her cunt. That's worth somethin' to me." It was all I could do not to say anything and it raised my largest fear, that they would want Jezebel.

The man with the rifle told him to be quiet and Jancey asked Jezebel again. She pulled off her left glove and twisted off her wedding band, dropping it in his hat.

"I have nothing else," she said.

"Open that bag," he said roughly. Jezebel opened her reticule. "Dump it." She did and the box of face powder, a small comb, a handkerchief, some hair pins and a small coin purse fell out. "Nothing worth stealing." Jancey reached into the hat and tossed the useless items on the ground. Then he looked at me. I handed him my pocket watch and fob and the coins I had in my pocket. I pulled out my billfold and emptied it of the bills and showed him I had nothing more to give him.

"Animals," Mrs. Humphrey said under her breath. Jancey turned on her.

"_Animals? Is that what you called us?" He was furious and Mrs. Humphrey paled and stuttered as she stepped back. There was going to be trouble. I felt it. "I'll show you how animals behave." Jancey tossed his hat full of the goods to one of the men on a horse and then reached out and tore her dress open. Even above her cry of surprise and horror, we could hear the sound of the tearing hooks and ripped fabric. Her stays were exposed and her huge, fleshy breasts showed above, the chemise barely covering the trembling mounds. The men laughed at the sight of her as she tried to cover herself with her hands, embarrassed and humiliated._

"_Oh, my God," Mrs. Humphrey cried out. I grabbed Jezebel's hand and quickly pulled her behind me. Things were getting out of hand. _

_I glanced to where my gun had landed, judging whether or not I could get to it before one of them shot me. I wouldn't be able to. "Close your eyes," I practically whispered to Jezebel. "Stay behind me and close your eyes." I didn't want Jezebel to see what was going to happen to Mrs. Humphrey._

"_Leave Mildred alone," her husband said and Jancey poked the gun barrel in his face. He stepped back and Jancey said, "I thought so. You ain't so brave now, are you?" _

_Jancey grabbed Mrs. Humphrey's arm and jerked her to him. Then he looked at the man holding the rifle. "We got time?"_

"_Take her over there and make it quick," he said, motioning to the side of the road. And we stood in the dirt, their guns and rifle held on us, while each of them took their turns mounting Mrs. Humphrey. She screamed and cried for help while Jancey took her but after the second man, she just lay there with her eyes closed and said nothing. When Jancey had climbed off her and adjusted himself and his clothes, he joked that she was like "fuckin' a pile of tallow; you just sink in." But the worst part as far as I was concerned was that I was glad it was Mrs. Humphrey that they took and not Jezebel; I know that was wrong but it was how I felt. I would have even sacrificed myself to save Jezebel. Had they decided they wanted Jezebel, I would have tried to stop them and probably been killed but at least then I wouldn't have had to helplessly watch while they violated her; I would have had to blow my head apart had that happened. I kept Jezebel behind me, hoping they had forgotten about her and I don't know if they had or not but as soon as all of them had their way with Mrs. Humphrey, they left her sobbing in the dirt and rode off, laughing. I sighed in relief to see them disappear over the rise._

"Jezebel, get on the stage," I said.

"No, I have to help Mrs. Humphrey."

"Get on the goddamn stage. I'll help her. Now get on." I almost pushed her inside and then, when she was safely within, I went to help the driver and her husband get Mrs. Humphrey into the stage. She was hysterical now and once we had her inside, Jezebel sat beside her and comforted her as only one woman can another. The whip had pulled a moth-eaten blanket from the back boot but it served to cover her.

I retrieved my gun and we continued on our way and I had to listen to Mr. Humphrey go on and on about what he should have done and did I think he had behaved as a coward? Jezebel looked at me. I suppose she thought that I should have done something, risked my own life for Mrs. Humphrey's sake but I hadn't. I wanted to say, "Had it been you, Jezebel, I would have fought them to the end to save you. Don't you understand? I would have given my life to save you—to save you because I wouldn't be able to live with myself afterwards had I not done anything." But I don't think Jezebel would have understood. And I was ashamed of myself as I wasn't sure if my inaction in the face of the rifle was cowardice or rationality. I had to settle that with myself.


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 14**

At the next stop, a small town called Cross Arrows, the Humphrey's debarked and the deputy sheriff took them to see the town doctor. Mrs. Humphrey had begun to cry again and I offered to help in escorting her as she was leaning heavily on her husband and he was struggling supporting her weight, but Mr. Humphrey said it wasn't necessary. He looked like a beaten man and I knew he would have a long, dark night of the soul considering what he should have done in the situation, how he could have saved his wife and also wondering if she truly forgave him for his inaction despite the fact that he would have been killed.

"There was nothing you could have done," I said to him. "They would have killed you and then who would your wife have?" He nodded and then went on to the town's doctor but he looked back once at me and I understood that it didn't matter what anyone else said—he had his shaky opinion of himself to deal with. I am always second-guessing myself as well so I understood his situation, a situation that all men face when they believe they have been less than they should—it's a type of hell that you never truly escape. Never.

Jezebel and I had to give statements to the sheriff and then we boarded a new stage for the next leg of our journey. There were two other passengers this stretch of our trip, an old man and a salesman who opened his showcase and tried to sell me a new pocket watch; apparently he had heard about the robbery. I declined. Since the salesman made no sale to any of us, he closed his case and closed his eyes and dozed. The old man had long since fallen asleep, his chaw-colored saliva escaping from one corner of his mouth.

"Jezzie, do you think I should have given my life to protect Mrs. Humphrey?" I quietly asked. She had been staring out the small coach window—she was actually being vigilant. Her whole body was tense and I knew she was afraid of being robbed again, especially now since we had nothing to give them except for the twenty dollars I had wrangled from the Cross Arrows Municipal Bank. There was still the handwritten receipt that Captain Hale of the Bayliss had written for the pelts and it was tucked in one of the leather folds; it finally convinced the manager that I was who I said I was. He had heard of the Ponderosa and the Cartwrights so he agreed to allow me to write a draft and have the twenty dollars. Actually, the bank manager remained dubious but since I had protested and appeared offended that he doubted my word as to whom I was, he relented and gave the teller orders to give me twenty dollars—but no more. Then he had looked us over once more, Jezebel standing quietly beside me, and went into his office but he had watched us through his glass wall.

The coach rocked on and I wondered, since Jezzie hadn't yet responded to my question, if she had heard me. I was about to ask again but then she turned to face me.

"No, Adam. That wouldn't have made sense. You'd be dead and they would have violated her anyway. What would it serve for you to throw your life away on some foolish idea of gallantry?"

"Well, you'd be rid of me for one thing and sometimes, well, I don't know that gallantry is necessarily foolish."

"I wouldn't want to be rid of you that way no matter what. If anyone is going to shoot you—I'd rather it were I." I smiled slightly. "Besides," she continued. "I shouldn't tell you this although you already think poor of me so I suppose it doesn't matter what you think anymore, but I'm relieved that it was she and not I that they took. I know it makes me look cold and heartless, but I…" She turned back to the window to keep her watch.

"It makes you human," I said to her small back, her hat still perched on her auburn hair. "And to be honest, I'm glad they took her and not you as well. Part of it is that I would be dead by now if they had and you, well, I can't bear to think about it." Jezebel turned her face to me but I couldn't read her expression. Then she smiled—it was barely a smile but it was one. She lightly touched my arm before she went back to gazing out the window and I sat back, surprisingly relieved and she seemed to have relaxed a bit as well—there was a drop of her shoulders and her whole body seemed to become softer. I decided right then that what I felt for Jezzie was love. My heart had betrayed me, damn miserable thing that it is.

After a dinner of beans and bacon and biscuits at a way station—a bad choice in my opinion since the old man was flatulent even in his sleep, we rode on through the night. This stage had a money box so there was someone riding shotgun but that had only made Jezebel more nervous; she couldn't eat, she said, having only picked at a biscuit. I had asked the station manager to wrap up two biscuits for her and he complied since he had seen how little she had eaten.

I was tired, worn-out, but I didn't want to sleep while Jezebel still sat, staring out into the darkness. She sat with her hands clutching her reticule in her lap.

"Jezebel," I said quietly, hoping not to wake up the old man—he had proved himself quite the talker at dinner, regaling all of us with his adventures—when he was younger, of course—"why don't you try to get some sleep."

She left off and turned to me. "I can't. What if they come back again or someone else. What if they're worse, just shoot us or…do worse."

"The sheriff in Cross Arrows is out hunting them down and we're quite a distance from where the…hold-up took place. Well," I said slouching down and pulling down the brim of my hat, "I'm going to try to catch a little sleep. We should be in Cheyenne tomorrow afternoon." I crossed my arms and was soon asleep but something woke me—a sound or a bump in the road and I felt a weight on my shoulder. I looked over and Jezebel's head was resting on my shoulder, her hat in her lap. I sat up slightly and she woke in a panic, asking if something was wrong.

"Shhhhh," I said, "nothing's wrong. Here, just get more comfortable." I put one arm around her and she pulled away slightly and then, as exhausted as she was, she dropped her head on my chest and was soon asleep again; my heart swelled with love for her. I bent my head and kissed her soft hair, sighed and closed my eyes and the rocking motion of the coach soon put me to sleep as well and the next thing I knew, the sun was coming in the coach widow; Jezebel hadn't pulled down the shade.

The salesman was awake, still clutching his case to his chest as he had while he slept and the old man was chewing tobacco.

"You two been sleepin' good and long," the old man said. He leaned out the window and spat. At least he was considerate enough to make the effort not to have any blowback. Jezebel moved slightly and then quickly sat up. "Have a good sleep, ma'am?" he asked smiling and showing his brown teeth. He bent down and picked up her hat that had slipped off her lap.

Jezebel took the hat, looked at me and then back to the man and smiled. "Thank you. And yes, I did sleep well. It wasn't the most comfortable night, but…" She touched her hair as if to arrange it but stopped. Then she pinned on her hat and moved away from me closer to the window.

"Any of you know how much longer to Cheyenne?" the salesman asked. He looked physically uncomfortable. "I can't ever get used to traveling in the stages. You'd think the rail line would have accounted for all the possible travel out west by now but no. All they care about is building cattle cars and flat cars for lumber and such. I get tired traveling in this medieval manner."

"If things are the same as the last time I was this way," I said, "There should be another stop for breakfast and then we should get to Cheyenne this afternoon."

"Good. I need to make some sales and take some orders. It's hard for a man to make a living out here." He held his case even closer as if one of us was going to rip it from his grasp. The old man chuckled at the salesman's complaints but Jezebel was lost in her own thoughts and wouldn't let anyone in—especially me.

We caught the train for Carson City two hours after we arrived in Cheyenne. Jezebel and I only had time for lunch and despite her having slept most of the night, she looked worn-out. She was paler than normal and I had urged her to eat. The food wasn't bad—not fancy but filling—and I tried to tempt her with dessert but she would have none of it. She ate a few bites of the stew and dipped a slice of brown bread into the savory stew and ate it but that was all.

All the way to Carson City, I was filled with regret for having taken Jezebel from the security of her marriage to Lom Caswell, shattered her security for my own selfish reasons. As I said before, it would be easy to hide behind the fact that what Jezebel had done was illegal and immoral but that would be a joke. I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I reached out and touched her arm. She looked at me—surprised.

"Jezebel, I…if I could undo what I've done, I would. I don't expect you to ever forgive me and I'll have to live with that. I wish I had left you there with Lom—but I…I think…it's hard for me to separate my feelings but I wanted you. If I hadn't, well, I'm not above looking the other way if a crime is victimless. You were happy and I ruined it and for that I'm sorry." Well, I had said it but it didn't make me feel any better. And I suddenly felt it had been a mistake to confess.

Her eyes narrowed. "Now you're saying it was a mistake? Now you're sorry and full of regret?" She laughed. "A bit, late don't you think?" She looked uneasy. "But my life was far from blissful—I was always worried, always uneasy. New Orleans is far from Nevada but yet I woke up every morning wondering if someone from my past would recognize me, would point at me and claim I was a fraud. I had planned what I would say. 'No, you're mistaken. I'm not the woman you're talking about.' But then I stupidly gave Lom my real name—my real first name. I should have called myself something else. After all, how many Jezebels are there? Such an unfortunate name—Jezebel. No one would have believed my denial."

I waited and after a few heartbeats, she continued. "Lom's Aunt Handy detested me. She asked me once if I had worked as a whore, said that she recognized one, that I had the smell of one. It's difficult living with someone who hates you but then Lom was such a fool for me. I always wanted to tell him that I wasn't worth his love, that I…that he deserved a woman who truly loved him in the way a woman should love a man but I never did." Jezebel turned to me. "You see, Adam, I was duplicitous and I believe that there's a hell for people like me. And as far as Mason, I should have divorced him instead of running away—or killed him."

She turned to look straight ahead again and I had to smile. Jezebel was as crafty as I was. I understood her. It was understanding myself that still eluded me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 15**

Roy Coffee stood with his mouth open when I walked in with Jezebel Noble.

"Close your mouth, Roy," I said, "and say good morning to Mrs. Noble."

Roy stammered a bit and then offered Jezebel a seat and a cup of coffee. She sat down but declined the coffee. I told her that for once she made a good decision. I leaned against the wall, determined to stay out of the matter but I couldn't leave Jezebel alone; she might need me and although I felt perfectly justified to treat her with a bit of disdain, I wouldn't allow anyone else to do so.

Before meeting up with Roy, Jezebel and I had talked a bit about what she should say—basically, the truth, but not the whole truth. So when we arrived in Virginia City, Jezebel was edgy as I escorted her to the sheriff's office. Well, after hearing that she had left Nevada for New Orleans and had married another man, Roy sent Clem Foster out to find Mason and to bring him back. While we waited, Jezebel told Roy the same story she had told me only this time, she shed a few tears—the tears were obviously her idea and I doubted if they were genuine. Other than a woman's moist snatch, tears are the way to soften a man's heart and Roy Coffee's heart was mush to start with. I did have to smile at the image of Jezebel lying back and raising her skirts for Roy as she had for me. I almost laughed, imagining Roy's eyes practically popping out of his head at even the idea of experiencing such a tight fit as sweet Jezebel.

Roy sat across from her and listened, his face reflecting the sympathy he felt for Jezebel who had run from an abusive husband and found a loving one who rejected her for her crime of "survival." And now I had brought her back to face her punishment—if there was to be one. "I never meant to hurt anyone," she finished with and dropped her eyes in humility. She was good.

"Well, Mrs. Noble," Roy said, "unless Mason or Mr. Caswell press charges, I don't see that the law has anything to prosecute, I mean I don't think that anyone would blame you—well, you did know you were married….You do know that your marriage to Mr. Caswell is invalid?" She nodded but continued to look down at her hands. "But then you said he was going to have the marriage annulled." She nodded again. And Clem and Mason walked in.

Jezebel stood up and I stood straight just in case I had to throttle Mason again—something I would have really enjoyed. Mason's face reflected his horror that Jezebel had reappeared.

"Hello, Mason," she said quietly.

"It is you," Mason said, stepping closer and staring at her. "Deputy Foster said it was but…after all this time you've come back. Why?"

She stated to speak but I spoke first.

"I brought her back. I was in New Orleans and…well, she came back on her own volition but I told her that it would be for the best and she agreed." I decided to make things sound better than they actually were.

Mason had glanced at me but returned to Jezebel. "And you expect me to take you back? I might have considered taking you back—I've missed your 'talents', but then you went and married another man? I can't take you back—I would be a laughingstock, the joke of Virginia City."

Jezebel had sat back down and looked up at her husband. "No, I didn't really expect you to take me back. I expect you to divorce me. I've shamed you, run away and married someone else. All I ask of you is to help me financially. I need a room at the hotel, someplace to stay until I can get back on my feet."

"Back on your feet?" Mason laughed but it was devoid of humor. "Fall on your back and earn your money that way, you lying, deceitful cunt."

I stepped forward. I was ready to take Mason apart for calling her that but Roy intervened.

"Now, none of that, Mason. You need to watch your language. Don't speak to the lady that way. And don't forget, she's still your wife."

Mason laughed. "My wife, yes, but a lady?" He turned back to Jezebel. "I know you found it distasteful to spread your legs for me but that was fine as long as you served me in other ways and you did—until I caught you that night with another man's spunk on your clothes. We had a business deal, you and I, and you broke it. Go back to whoring. Use your cunt for what it was made to do—to make you money."

Clem put a hand on Mason to restrain him but he twisted away. Mason, glancing back at her once more—and I swear that he looked at her with longing-walked out of the office. I have to admit that I was astounded by what he had said to Jezebel. Clem and Roy were stunned as well and didn't know what to say. But I finally did. I grabbed Jezebel by the upper arm and jerked her up out of her chair.

"Roy, Clem, may I speak privately with Mrs. Noble?" I almost spat out "Mrs. Noble."

"Um…yeah, in the back. There are no prisoners. Close the door." Roy and Clem looked at one another again in confusion.

Jezebel was a bit, shall I say, reluctant to go with me, so I practically dragged her to the back and closed the double doors separating the office from the cells. I gave her a little shove inside and then she turned and faced me, her jaw set in defiance.

"You lying little bitch," I said, the anger rising in my gullet. "Your little story about your father and Mason and why you left him—that was all lies, wasn't it?" She said nothing, just dropped her eyes. "Wasn't it?" I said forcefully. I wanted to shake her, to turn her over my knee and wallop her firm ass and then take her on one of the pallets in a cell. Any other man would more than likely wash their hands of Jezebel but she had gotten under my skin and I wanted her even more—don't ask me why but with her bosom rising and falling with her breathing, the flush along her cheeks and her red, full lips...well, I was a fool for her.

"Not all of it." Jezebel said. "Mason did take a belt to me. He took a belt to me many times—it excited him and then I would use my hand or my mouth to satisfy him. He liked that type of thing; I didn't in particular. It's true that he walked in one me satisfying myself again after you had left and he did find the stained underskirt. He struck me with his belt just as I told you—until he was out of breath and sweating like some pig. That was it for me—I knew I couldn't carry on with you after that-it would be too dangerous but not necessarily for me-for you"

"Well aren't you the considerate whore," I sarcastically replied, "thinking only of me."

"It's the truth. No matter what, Adam, I do care about you. I lay down for you that night because I have…needs as well. Most women won't admit to it but actually, we all want a hard man to please us, to satisfy us, and Mason wasn't that man but you, you are." She looked up at me as if she wanted me again—or I was just hoping that was what her look meant.

"I'm flattered," I said. I couldn't help but be acerbic with her; she brought it out in me and I didn't dare seem vulnerable in front of her.

"Believe what you want but I did consider your reputation if Mason found out. Nevertheless, I decided I wasn't going to suffer Mason anymore no matter what. I was most happy when he went to town and found a whore to do some of the more unpleasant things with him." She stopped talking and I waited, not saying anything so she continued. "When I met Mason, I was...actually, I was a kept woman, a mistress to one of the wealthiest men in Baltimore. I chose who to be with and made my own demands. Some of the things Mason wanted, they were below me; I don't do such depraved things."

"Oh, so you're a whore with standards now. How interesting."

"Be snide," she said, "but you seemed to have enjoyed my spreading my legs for you…for free. Do you know how much that would have cost you otherwise?"

"More than it's worth, I'm sure. But tell me something, Jezebel, why did you marry Mason? If you're as good as you say, if you were such a desired mistress, why not continue with your…chosen livelihood?"

"I…needed to leave Baltimore. There had been a scandal. My lover, well, one of my lovers, his wife had found out about me and took a knife to him—it was most unfortunate. He didn't die but he had no more use for a woman—she only left him about an inch, not even enough length to stroke in his hands. It was in all the papers, all the sordid rags and my name was bandied about as his mistress, dragged through the mud. Mason was in Baltimore on business at the time and when I met him, well, I saw him as a way to leave, to change my name and live a decent life. I was a good wife to him—faithful, that is until I met you. From the first time I saw you," her voice changed, softened as if moved by emotion but I wondered about her sincerity. "I wondered who I might have been able to have instead of Mason. Things could have been so different with you and my life became unhappy with longing; I wanted you so much. My life became practically unbearable at times—I actually grieved at the prospect of never knowing you. It reached a point where my misery with my choices in life became too much—I believed I would never have you, never again be with a man I desired. That's when I took too much laudanum; I was at my lowest point. But then you showed up that evening and I wanted to tell you how much you meant to me but I had no chance but I still believed that you had been sent to me, to let me know that I could be happy. You don't know how much I had always wanted to talk to you, to dance with you all those times you had asked me but then…there was too much risk involved had I accepted. Had you pressed me next to you on a dance floor, had I felt your hardness against me, known that you wanted me—I would have been at your mercy and done anything you desired."

"You flatter me," I said but my blood became hotter. "And Lom? Why marry him?"

"It was just…I was going to have to start working again in New Orleans to support myself…I wasn't sure at what," she added having caught my expression of disbelief. "I was hoping that I wouldn't have to sell myself to make a living and fortunately, Lom fell in love with me and asked me to marry him. I told him that I was running away from a man who beat me because I wouldn't marry him. No matter what else, Adam, I made Lom happy. He was the most satisfied husband in New Orleans. I pleased him so much that I practically have callouses on my knees and my palms. I even had a bad case of chapped lips for a while."

I fell victim to my cock again listening to Jezebel and she knew it. I was miserable, servant to my sex, so she changed her tact.

"How long do you think we have, Adam? Long enough for me to please you?" She moved closer and I felt her hands begin to unbutton my pants. "You'll see why Lom was so happy, why Mason wanted me, why he kept me…"

I grabbed her hands and held her wrists. She laughed.

"Oh, Adam, you are so foolish. You have no idea what you're passing up. I could thrill you with my tongue until you flooded my mouth. You'd see why men begged for me when I was between lovers. They would practically line up in the hopes I would receive them, all bearing gifts." Then she shrugged her shoulders and I let go of her narrow wrists. "Well, what now? You're the one who destroyed my marriage to Lom and in a manner, to Mason as well. I'm penniless and have nowhere to go."

Jezebel was right about that; I had single-handedly taken her away from a relatively happy marriage and brought her back to Mason who now also wanted nothing to do with her. I had to think about what was to happen to Jezebel and to me because I was already regretting not allowing her to undo my britches and then drop to her knees before me. I studied her mouth, the lips that were so full, that I enjoyed kissing and feeling upon my skin. I could well understand why a man for the promise of that mouth and her hands running over his body would do just about anything. But I had to think of other things so I took her arm and went back out into the office where Roy and Clem were waiting.

"Roy, Jezebel will be at the Ponderosa if you want to see her."

Roy tried to suppress a grin. "All right, Adam. Tell your Pa hello for me, would you?"

I just sighed as reply and Jezebel and I climbed back into the rented buggy. I snapped the reins on the horse's back and we headed out to the Ponderosa. I knew Jezebel was watching me but she said nothing. But when we were about three or four miles out of town, Jezebel pulled off her gloves and slid one hand to the inside of my thigh. I looked at her suspiciously.

"You don't give up, do you, Jezzie?" I purposely used Lom's pet name for her.

"You'll be very glad I don't," she said, sliding her hand higher until she cupped me and I groaned. She leaned over and softly said, "Pull off the road." And I'm ashamed to say that I did. Jezebel was as good as she had said. Her talents went beyond the pale—damn it all. She was truly amazing. We stopped one more time before we arrived at the Ponderosa and I have to admit that it was the most pleasant buggy ride I had ever taken in my life. Jezebel was a treasure.

**Epilogue**

Once Pa got over his surprise of seeing a flesh and blood Jezebel still very much alive and just as beautiful, it was obvious, at least to me, that Pa wasn't too happy to have Jezebel as a guest in the house. Oh, he was polite and gracious to her—he was to all guests no matter what he thought of them, but once I had Jezebel safely ensconced in the room next to mine, Pa was waiting downstairs, pacing back and forth, his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowed. Hoss and Joe took off, Hoss practically shoving Joe aside in his haste to get to the stairs first and avoid the confrontation that was coming.

I told my father everything that Roy knew since I was sure that Roy would soon be out and ragging Pa about the houseguest, but I left the impression that Mason had been distressed and that was why he had insulted Jezebel-because she married Lom. After all she had still been married and Mason felt that made her a whore. Pa didn't like it but he begrudgingly allowed Jezebel to stay. He made some remark about putting an outside lock on her bedroom door to keep Hoss and Joe out but I knew he was talking about me. But then, no locked door could have kept Jezzie and me away from each other.

Yes, it was only two nights later and I was enjoying the delights of Jezebel and she hadn't been bragging—she did thrill me and it wasn't just with her mouth-her body was as flexible as a weasel's. I swear, one time I came so hard that I almost snapped my spine. Hell, I would have emptied my bank account to keep Jezzie in my bed but as it turned out, all I had to do was marry her. It took a few months for Jezebel's divorce from Mason to be finalized—the annulment papers for her marriage to Lom came quickly—and after the path was cleared, I married Jezebel Noble.

And even if we don't love each other madly and deeply yet—or even if we never do, we certainly enjoy each other's company both in and out of bed. My Jezebel has a naughty sense of humor, accompanies me on my business trips to keep them from being boring, and can always anticipate what I want and what I need before I myself know it—also both in and out of bed—and she eagerly serves me and makes me happy and comfortable. I try to return the favor in kind and she appears to enjoy it when I take control and master her.

There is no defense for my actions in marrying a "whore" and I'm not attempting to present one but any man who doesn't think that a whore makes a good wife, well, he's just pompous and ignorant. And as for me, I can only say that since the first Adam a woman has been man's downfall—or his saving grace.

**~Finis~**


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